


lucky strike

by noodoo



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, accidentally a fencing au, college aus are a dime a dozen but who cares! im having fun, no beta we die like lesbians writing self indulgent fanfic at 1am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-01-02 03:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21155120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodoo/pseuds/noodoo
Summary: Garreg Mach, an elite university known for its state of the art research, is just gearing up for the Fall semester. Edelgard, a student in her last year, balances running The Empire Club, an exclusive co-ed Final Club, fencing, school work, graduating, and keeping her resolve. At the same time, Byleth is hired as a research assistant in one of the University's labs, and their lives begins to intertwine with each other, and the rest of the student body, as the school year goes by.Alternatively: Byleth discovers college.





	1. Edelgard I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Edelgard's senior year.

It’s 6 in the morning, and Edelgard stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, noticing the dark tint that has been circling her eyes for the past few days. She holds a pill between her index and thumb, watching the powdery contents move freely inside the casing as she twitches slightly. The skin of her hand is fraught with old scars that seem to flow from her wrist like pale, sinewy branches of a tree, clearly marking her roots to anyone who dares to see them. They’re less visible than the rest of the scars that wind down her body, which mark her skin in jagged pathways along her veins. This daily task is her least favorite part of the day. 

Besides this very moment, Edelgard rather enjoys waking up before most of the house, meeting her closest friend, Hubert in the large shared kitchen so they can settle in their morning routine alone, yet together. Unfortunately, the medication is necessary for her daily functioning, and as much as she wishes to just flush every monthly supply of pills down the toilet, she can’t if she’s to continue on her path: graduate, go to graduate school, and everything that comes after. To make matters worse, it’s one of the few moments in the day where she doesn’t have an excuse to wear any gloves, and although no one but her can see, the sight of her scarred hands fills her up with a bitterness stronger than the aftertaste of the pill. Still, she resigns herself and swallows the capsule down with sink water every morning, hating the feeling of it slide down her throat.

She finishes her bathroom time by washing her face with the cold water, rubbing at the skin under her eyes as if she can almost feel the tiredness through her fingers. It’s only the beginning of the Fall semester and she’s already up to her neck in school and extracurricular work. Coach Alois’ voice is already in the back of her head, _ Edelgard, you look so stressed, your hair’s turning white! _ with his boisterous laughter immediately following. She never liked his jokes, and as she grimaces at the thought, she’s almost grateful for his career-shattering injury and subsequent replacement.

After putting the bottle of pills back in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, she returns to her room, a single occupancy room with a large bay window, curtains drawn closed, on the wall opposite the door. She moves to turn on the lamp on her ornate desk, casting the room in a faint red tint that emanates from the bright crimson lampshade. The mirror on the desk is small and circular, just enough to see her full face, and a bit more if she pulls back, but not big enough to notice her full reflection staring back at her while she gets undressed. She grabs the silk glove linings from the mahogany surface and pulls them on quickly, and then reaches for the large brush within her desk drawer.

As the president of the Empire Club for the third year in a row, Edelgard gets the perks of having the coveted third floor bedroom: not the largest in their shared Victorian home, that honor goes to the second floor bedroom at the end of the hallway, but rather, the only bedroom that has a floor to itself, bathroom included. There’s no formal rule saying other members can’t go upstairs and use it whenever they choose, but they usually don’t. Edelgard suspects that even they can sense her uneasiness around the shared bathrooms. The thought of anyone catching her after a shower, or seeing the bright orange bottle filled with capsules of mysterious powder as they rifle through the cabinet to find a razor fills her with unspeakable anxiety. In the past, when she had lived on the lower floors, and even before when she was in the freshman dorms, she had always kept her most private things stored away inside boxes within boxes under her bed, and carried her clothes with her when she showered so she could change then and there. Now, as she meticulously brushes her long silvery locks, she relishes in the freedom of space, and the uncoupling of that part of her and the place where she sleeps— one less thing to haunt her at night.

Edelgard does enjoy _ this _ part of her routine, too, this daily ritual just for her. With everyone asleep, away, or knowing, and her phone on silent, she can feel truly alone. In the dark of her room, she’s illuminated only by the lamplight and light that filters in through closed blinds in hard horizontal lines. She runs the brush through bundles of hair and feels as every knot is smoothed out. In the small space of the mirror, she catches herself with a small smile as she sees the shine forming in the long, pale strands. One of the many side effects of her childhood medical treatment, and now, ongoing medication was the loss of pigment in her hair. Perhaps it’s because she’s had so many years of staring at herself in mirrors to familiarize herself with it, or the fact that it’s so hard to hide compared to scars, but she doesn’t recoil at the sight. She feels striking, actually, as she runs her hands through the hair, so delicately taken care of, a bright ivory against pale flesh. It’s hard to feel ashamed of it, too, when no one here, save Hubert, knows her original hair color anyway. 

When the strands are brushed and brushed and brushed yet again, she moves on to make up. Today, she reaches for the tube of concealer and applies it under her eyes with a brush in an effort to rub the sleep away. Can’t afford to look tired in front of everyone else, lest someone like Ferdinand come around to challenge her for the presidency. It covers up well enough, and makes her look less like she hasn’t slept in days. Next, she grabs the violet ribbons from inside the wooden drawer, and begins grabbing fistfuls of hair to tie it into a loose side ponytail. She cycles through a few hair styles weekly, but today she can’t be bothered to deal with the long, arduous process of her more frequent dual-bun style, so she settles. 

Hubert is waiting for her when she finishes getting dressed for the day and heads downstairs, as usual, in a long, dark robe that makes him look almost regal. His hair is damp and little droplets form at the edges of the dark curls that partially obscure one of his eyes— he’s always been a morning shower person. Edelgard can hear the whistling of the tea kettle as it boils water for the both of them. Although she does enjoy her time alone, she’s grateful for his presence on these mornings, and how they can just sit in silence and enjoy the first light together. 

She searches through her cabinet in the kitchen, reaching her hand into the box of Bergamot tea. Hubert watches her silently as he grinds his coffee beans with a mechanical grinder, turning the crank in circles as the familiar sound fills the room. Edelgard feels just the empty cardboard box, mentally berating herself for forgetting to buy another box amidst the stress of work. She grabs the box out of the cabinet and puts it in the recycling bin by her feet. 

“Coffee, Edelgard?” he says, opening the grinder up and pouring the grounds into a conical pour-over he has sitting atop his black mug. 

“No thank you, Hubert.” She appreciates his offer, but has never quite acquired the taste for his coffee. He gets his beans from an international supplier, and they’re slow roasted to the point of being almost burnt, to let the bitter flavors shine through every sip. She much prefers the coffee she buys at the on-campus coffee shop, a latte loaded with pumps of vanilla syrup and topped with whipped cream, although she would never admit to him, or anyone except the baristas working there. For someone with sophisticated taste usually, she can’t bear the thought of one of her classmates seeing her drink the sugarous monstrosity.

There’s still a second box of tea in Edelgard’s cabinet, a tin of imported green tea gifted to her by her father to celebrate her first day of the school year. Although he is bedridden these days, he still finds the energy to send her gifts every now and then, usually teas and sweets from far away places she’s never been to. This particular brand’s tin is entirely in Japanese, though he tells her that it’s known to be the best green tea you can find. The mug Hubert has laid out for her is one of many, red with the silhouette of an eagle about to take off. The Black Eagle is the Empire Club’s official symbol, and the banner that hangs off of the second floor balcony proudly displays it. So do the dozen mugs, give or take the few that Caspar has broken. 

She puts the bag of tea in her mug, while Hubert pours hot water into his pour over, watching as little brown drops slowly fall through. A dirty frying pan and spatula lie haphazardly on the marbled counter top— surely Ferdinand’s doing as he rushed out of the house for his rowing practice. Hubert is visibly annoyed at the mess in their normally pristine kitchen, but he holds his tongue in during the quiet moments and pours the rest of the hot water into Edelgard’s cup instead.

Today, as with most days, Edelgard has a full schedule. Besides her three classes, Public Policy Analysis, Applied Statistics, and Microbiology, she has a lunch reception for one of her majors—Political Science—an art seminar in the afternoon, a meeting with a sophomore on her fencing team that’s rushing the Club, fencing practice at 5, after which she’ll meet with the Empire executive board for their weekly housekeeping at 7, and working on assignments in between. She tells herself she works best when she’s busy, grinding through classes and assignments and meetings with the kind of grace that makes her peers jealous. But, secretly, she can’t wait for a day where she can just lie around the house and do absolutely nothing. That doesn’t seem likely in her future, though, not with the semester crunching in, graduate school applications, studying for the GRE, trying to win in fencing competitions, and more all while trying to keep the Club running.

She stirs a spoonful of honey into her tea and brings it close, feeling the warmth through her silk-covered fingers. The kitchen is large enough for 8 residents, but could actually fit about twenty, and a large island with marble countertop and bar stools flanking it sits in the middle. Her and Hubert sit beside each other, and he sips his coffee black while he scrolls through an article on his phone. 

“I’m meeting with Petra today,” Edelgard says after a slow sip of tea. “Caspar says his yesterday went really well. Apparently she’s showing interest in us, too.” 

“As I’ve heard. Dorothea won’t stop singing praises for her.” 

“What do you know about her?” she responds curiously, knowing Hubert will have information. 

As much as she loves the Empire, Edelgard finds rushing to be one of the more exhausting and dated traditions. It isn’t exclusive to them, either: at Garreg Mach, most serious organizations or clubs or living groups have their own rush process, too. For more traditional Greek life, like the Beta Lambda co-ed fraternity, rushing is a series of free food events and social activities in public spaces to attract new members. For the more alternative living groups, like the Deer Haus, rushing is an incredibly informal process that just involved hanging out at their house until they offered a bid. For the Empire, a club shrouded in relative exclusivity, rushing is done entirely behind the scenes. Potential new members are scouted by current members, simultaneously courted and interviewed by multiple members in the span of a week, and then offered bids to join. No fanfare surrounding the rush process, but all new pledges do get wined and dined with Club funds after all is said and done.

“Petra Macneary, heiress of a Venezuelan oil conglomerate, she recently transferred from a university in her home country to Garreg Mach. Her father was killed in a plane crash off the coast of Italy, returning the company to her aging grandfather until she ascends to CEO, presumably after graduation. She’s an avid fencer, as you’re aware, and has competed on a national level.” How he gets all this information, Edelgard will never know. 

“You never fail to impress me with your investigative skills, Hubert,” she responds with a chuckle. “Well, I’m sure her and I will have a lot to talk about, if not just fencing.”

“We should care to give her a bid tonight, lest those wretched Deer poach her up,” he says in his usual, sinister voice. “I know Claude’s been talking to her this past week, too.”

“She’s allowed to make other friends,” Edelgard says, trying to wave his concern away. “But we’ll talk about it tonight at the executive meeting,” she follows with a finality, effectively ending the conversation. The last thing she needed to worry about on top of everything else was their one recruit for this school year pledging another group. 

After they’ve finished their drinks, their routine consists of sitting on the porch of their shared home, reading and watching as the world begins to wake up. As a neuroscience major in his last year, Hubert’s classes are sparse and late in the day, so he spends the morning in his robe reading the news on his phone and tending to house duties. Now, he sits on the wooden rocking chair on the porch, lighting a cigarette between his fingers. Edelgard rarely smokes, mostly resigning to it at parties, but she doesn’t mind when Hubert does in front of her. On this morning, the early fog is heavy in the air, and the smoke is indistinguishable from the surrounding atmosphere. A few cars drive on the narrow road that flanks the house.

“There is another subject I wanted to bring up,” he says after a quick exhale of smoke. “Or rather, someone.” There’s a pause in his voice as he waits for a response.

“What is it?” 

Hubert has never been known to be apprehensive, but his tone of voice indicates otherwise. _ What could he possibly have to say? _

“I overheard from a professor yesterday that Doctor Arundel would be visiting the campus tomorrow. Perhaps he intends to pay you a visit.”

“Perhaps so,” she replies curtly, too blindsided to say anything else.

Just the sound of his name makes her tremble slightly. Her uncle, Dr. Volkhard Arundel, has close ties with the university through the company he works at. Agarthan Tech, just on the other side of the city, is just a run-of-the-mill gene therapy company, claiming to be working on curing various fatal diseases. At least, that’s what its outward appearance shows. Edelgard knows from personal experience the unethical and unreported experimentation they performed at their lab, all while they lauded their achievements in the field. Her monthly medication refills make her no stranger to the sight of him, though. 

“I would flay him and his entire pathetic excuse for a staff if you gave me the word, Edelgard,” he spits out, clearly noting her terse response to the news.

“I know, Hubert,” she responds with a sigh, turning away from him. As much as she’d love to see the life drain out of his eyes for what he did to her, indulging in the far-out fantasy only made her angrier. For all the pain he had caused, all the deaths he had contributed to, all of the nights spent scratching away at veins that seemed to burn through her skin, he would pay. But not today, and not soon, not with graduation and the future ahead of her.

“We could invite him over for a dinner laced with rat poison,” he laughs quietly to himself as he says the words. She chuckles at the thought.

“The sight of him retching and doubled over might just be enough to make my day.” 

Edelgard watches the smile form on his lips as he takes another drag of the cigarette. For all his nagging about her duties and questionable ideas, sometimes his dark sense of humor did lighten up her mood. 

As she watches the leaves on the trees rustling softly in the wind, she thinks about the real possibility of her uncle’s death, the destruction of Agarthan Tech, the burning of this entire university to the ground. Although it had been his company that had run the experiments, she knows the science and technology had first sprung out of a research lab at Garreg Mach. Days spent poring through articles in libraries and on the internet, reading about breakthrough after breakthrough in gene therapy and splicing that had come out of the university in the late 80s, funded directly by the Chancellor herself. She thinks of her siblings, and loose laboratory mice running through sterile hallways and skirting between her feet. All everyone ever saw was good news after good news as they read headlines about how close the scientists were to curing cancer in mice, or stopping the progress of ALS. They never saw the scared children in hospital beds who were promised a better version of themselves, without a choice in the matter any way. She thinks of being young and carefree, not ever knowing that her days were counting down from a disease she’d been born with. Sure, the procedures may have saved her life, but she struggles with the knowing that the cure came with such a heavy cost. 

The smell of tobacco is thick in the air now, clinging to the space they occupy. She checks her phone for the time in order to think of _ anything _ else, 6:59. By now, some early risers can be seen on their morning jogs, running through the streets underneath low trees. Now that the rest of the world has started opening its groggy eyes and setting out, it’s time for her day to start, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i escape the stress of college by... writing about fictional characters stressed in college


	2. Byleth I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's first day at the university.

Byleth’s first day as a research assistant is nothing short of uneventful. Hours spent in the stuffy, basement lab seemed to drag on has her new PI had shown her where different equipment was stored. He had introduced himself at the beginning with the hint of a scowl, _ Seteth_. Although the wrinkles around his eyes showed signs of sleepless nights, he still looked pretty young for someone in charge of a lab. 

The Cichol Lab, her new employer, is well known around the world for its groundbreaking research in organic chemistry, although she wouldn’t have known until Seteth had mentioned it within their first five minutes together. He certainly didn’t seem too pleased about taking on a new assistant, citing the woman’s lack of experience as he combed through a stack of research papers on his desk. He’s not wrong. She knows she is inexperienced, having never done formal research a day in her life. _ I don’t know what she’s thinking_, he’d muttered to himself, loudly enough for her to hear. Byleth didn’t know what _ she _ he was referring to as he said it, but pretended not to hear it anyway.

Through some stroke of fate, Byleth and her father, Jeralt, ended up back in the area, just as the University was in need of a new fencing coach. The old one apparently had a serious back injury and needed to rest, or that’s what Jeralt had said. Byleth had gone with him to his meeting with Chancellor Rhea and sat quietly outside her office as they spoke inside. She remembers the waiting room clearly; the receptionist who typed away and occasionally threw a sympathetic glance her way, the plush of the velvet chair under her, the large windows overlooking the entire campus. Their meeting had ended as quickly as it began, with both of them stepping out into the waiting room. The Chancellor had given Byleth a knowing smile upon seeing her._ It’s so nice to see you again, dear. _She hadn’t even introduced herself.

According to her father, Rhea had taken an interest in Byleth as soon as she’d heard that she was there waiting. Still, Byleth didn’t expect the turnaround of that encounter to be so… quick. Yet, here she is, walking across Garreg Mach’s Academic Campus, past buildings full of offices and miserable students. _ The chancellor and I have a complicated history, _ Jeralt had told Byleth a few days later, after describing the position the school had opened up for her. _ She thinks you have a lot of potential, kid. _He had said that last one with a hint of doubt, not at the implication of some innate talent, but at the idea of Rhea warming up to her so fast. Byleth gets the sense that he doesn’t entirely trust her, but is hesitant to say no to such a great opportunity for his child.

_ Potential_, that’s what everyone’s been telling Byleth for as long as she can remember. She’s always been a natural at most things physical — fighting and fencing come to mind first. Yet with the sciences, she hasn’t done anything spectacular, but somehow everyone can see the _ potential_. Jeralt had homeschooled her all her life, due to their constant travelling, mostly leaving her free reign to whatever libraries they were nearest. She’d lose herself in mountains of textbooks and documentaries that she’d watch on their portable DVD player in the shoddy motel rooms they’d stay in. Whenever she wasn’t practicing fencing or boxing with her father, she’d gravitate towards the chemistry books and their endless strings of molecular formulas. It never came easy to her, but interested her enough. Now, she feels like she did years ago, surrounded by a mountain of knowledge. For her first day, Seteth had left her with piles of academic papers to read through to get her up to speed on the project, and she’d picked up another textbook on Organic Chemistry to brush up on her prior knowledge. All in a day’s work.

On her first day, Byleth learns that Garreg Mach’s student body is relatively small, but that much is unclear based on the size of it’s campus— a massive, sprawling Academic Campus with state of the art laboratories, libraries filled with century old books, and classrooms nestled in between lies at its Western border, and Byleth navigates the concrete sidewalks and cuts through open expanses of grass, hoping that she’s going in the right direction. The buildings here are old and covered in ivy that climbs its way up, covering entire walls with fields of green. The faculty housing that her and Jeralt are staying in, courtesy of Rhea herself, is on the Northern border, and the entire southern border of the campus is flanked by the Fodlan River.

As she makes her way across the pathways, Byleth reaches the center of campus, which is marked by the large, ornate cathedral that rises up and casts a looming shadow over her. She’s never understood the religion of this place, and her father’s weariness of it doesn’t make her inclined to learn.

Finally, Byleth arrives at the Athletic Center, a bit off from the side of the river. The building is wide and squat, a modern design with glass windows on every surface. Even though the sun sets behind her, she can see the orange and pink hues reflected on the wall, projecting a sunset of their own. She walks inside and is filled with the familiar scent of sweat and worn out rubber. Jeralt had told her that the team practiced on the third floor, in the large recreation room, so she climbs the stairs and makes her way up. 

Upon opening the door into the recreation room, Byleth catches her father turn to her mid-thrust, his opponent’s sword jabbing him under the jaw, just above the high neck line of his armor. He never did like wearing the helmet during practice, and sometimes would even forgo the armor itself, opting for regular sweatpants and a t-shirt. He winches at the contact as his opponent pulls away.

“That’s what I get for not wearing that damned mask,” he says to her, dropping the slender sword and rubbing the tender spot with a gloved hand. He turns back to his masked student, “Dirty trick, Hresvelg, aiming for my face.”

“You shouldn’t have left your weak spot so exposed, Jeralt,” the masked person responds smugly. 

The recreation room is fairly large, spacious enough to have two people spar and more spectating. Mirrors line the long wall opposite the door, making the room look twice as big with doppelgängers. Probably to improve the students’ form, but Byleth mostly finds it distracting. Around the room, there are four other fencers, all dressed in the same, padded white uniforms save for the mask, relaxing on the ground and drinking water. One of them, a girl with thick, orange hair held back by a white sweatband eyes Byleth curiously.

“This is my kid, everyone,” Jeralt says, gesturing to the group. At this point, most of their attention is drawn towards Byleth, expressions ranging from curiosity to excitement to… whatever was behind that mask. A boy with blue black hair tied into a messy ponytail looks more occupied with the hilt of his sabre. Jeralt turns back to her, holding his dropped sword by the blade and angling the grip at her. “Want to give it a go?”

He doesn’t even need to ask. One thing Byleth has always loved about him is that he understands her completely; he doesn’t ask her about how her days went or what’d she have for dinner or _ what’s new, kid? _ or other small talk people make when they don’t know what to say. She’s never liked talking much, and has never been very expressive, but she can always tell when people are dying to crack her open to see what makes her tick. Her father doesn’t need to crack or break or chip away at parts of her to see what lies inside, but rather, he just _ knows _. He already speaks her language: fencing. After a long day of reading papers and listening to Seteth drone on, there is nothing she wants to do more than to swing a sword around to get her mind off of it.

“Let me challenge her,” the boy with dark hair says coolly, rising up and grabbing his sword.

“My bout was interrupted, Felix; it should be me,” the stranger, Hresvelg, says, pointing their sword towards Byleth. “Plus, she already has an épée in hand.”

Although Jeralt had trained his child in all three of the fencing styles, they both prefer the épée. The sword itself is heavier than the sabre or the foil, and the game is more focused on strategy and counter attacking, rather than speed and dexterity. Byleth has never been quick enough to really excel in the other two styles, but she gets by. In épée, however, she had earned the nickname Ashen Demon when she still competed years ago. The other children would say it frightfully, cursing themselves when they were up against her in the first rounds. Those days are long gone, now, and she hasn’t fenced with anyone that wasn’t her father in years. She grabs the protective clothing from the wall and puts it on over her clothes, finishing with the mask over her head.

“I won’t go easy on you because you’re Jeralt’s kid.”

This Hresvelg character is a few inches shorter than Byleth, which gives her the slightest advantage in fencing due to the decreased target area. It’s not an advantage that can’t be breached, though. They take the offensive immediately, encroaching in, expecting Byleth to poorly defend and open up her weak spots. She lets them follow her, parrying a swing or two as she steps back, increasingly aware of the size of the space as she sees her reflection get closer to her.

Eager to tip the scales, Byleth starts counter attacking every thrust they make, aiming at the crook under their arm or at their exposed hip. She’s light on her feet, hopping back and forth, forwards and backwards, dodging then attacking. Blow after blow after blow, they dodge every counter attack. She enjoys this part of fencing, the ebb and flow. It feels intimate in a way she’s not used to, like a dance routine instead of a battle, frantic and tense at the same time. They both settle into this rhythm of sorts, and she can tell her competitor is desperate to break it by their increasing aggression.

After minutes of constant back and forth, both sides escalating their offense slowly, Byleth can feel the sweat running down her forehead beneath the mask. She can tell by the more labored breathing she hears that her opponent is winding down, too. They press forward again, this time with even more force, jabbing towards her chest and retreating in quick succession. If they’re any good at fencing, they don’t actually mean to land any of those hits. They’re taunting her, fully expecting her to give in and parry, leaving the vulnerable sides open to attack. It almost works, too, when they catch Byleth in a side-step with the blunt edge, almost grazing her side with the tip of the sword.

So, Byleth tries a strategy of her own. This time, when they thrust forward, she counters their blade with a swinging motion to the right, dragging their sword arm with the momentum and creating an opening. She quickly turns the épée inwards, and jabs them right above the collarbone, metal hitting the pillowy material. A quick grunt escapes from inside the mask.

“Amazing!” a girl’s voice calls out, but Byleth can’t see who while her gaze is fixed to her mysterious competitor. She removes her mask and shakes her long, dark hair out, feeling the cool air hit the back of her neck. Little beads of sweat drip down the side of her face and down her chin, leaving trails of moisture. Now that the match is over and the world is in full focus again, she can see the reactions of the other fencers. The one with the blue-black hair, Felix apparently, leans against the wall and feels the edge of his sword with a gloved hand, not sparing a second glance. Another one, a girl with a large birthmark under her eye and magenta hair tied into a braid, looks both shocked and excited as she watches from her seat on the floor. In her periphery vision, Byleth can see her opponent removing their helmet and shaking sweat off their face. 

Finally, she turns to get a better look at the face behind the mask. The young woman has a feminine face, with deep violet eyes shrouded by a layer of exhaustion. She breathes heavily as she reaches a gloved hand back to untie a purple ribbon from her hair. Silvery locks of hair cascade down her shoulders, and bits of it cling to the skin on her face, adhered by a layer of sweat. Something about the way she looks at Byleth makes her feel nervous; the surface level of annoyance at having underestimated her opponent, and the deeper, calculating glances that cut through Byleth’s core. It’s almost as if she’s been analyzing Byleth since she walked in and interrupted the match. And yet, there’s something intriguing about this girl that Byleth can’t quite explain. She theorizes that it’s the stark white hair, which is not something Byleth has ever seen in a person under the age of 30. The smaller woman reaches her hand out.

“Nice job,” she says, “I must admit, I underestimated you.”

“People often do,” Byleth replies, and grabs her hand to give it a gentle shake. She can imagine what she looked like as she walked into the recreation room in the outfit that she grabbed first thing in the morning. The black tights she chose look like they’re on their last legs, with tears all over the surface, and her top is slightly too small from washing it on the wrong setting. While she doesn’t particularly care about her clothing choices or what people think, she has been told about the impression it gives people. Certainly not the look of an excellent fencer. “My name is Byleth.”

“Edelgard,” she says, a bit more warmly this time as the faint workings of a smile creep up on her. “Are you joining the team, Byleth? We could use a skilled épée like you.”

“I don’t compete,” Byleth responds, “at least, not any more.” 

“She can’t any way, she’s not a student here,” Jeralt interjects, coming up behind her with a firm shoulder pat. “But she can practice here with you, if you kids don’t mind. I’ve trained her in all the styles, so she’ll give you all a run for your money.”

“I could live with that,” Edelgard says with a small smile, adjusting her gloves.

“I can’t believe you’re Coach Jeralt’s kid!” the girl with the thick orange hair exclaims. “He used to teach me, you know? Back in my hometown. The name’s Leonie.” Byleth doesn’t recognize the face or name, which doesn’t surprise her. While she and her father were travelling across the country the past few years, he would take on local students and train them for extra money. She never trained with any of them, then, and he never really talked about them.

“A new challenger would be nice,” Felix responds with a smirk, lifting his sabre towards Byleth in a playful jab. “Felix,” he says bluntly, although she already caught his name before.

“Yes, I am wanting a new challenger, too,” the girl with the birthmark says. She rises with her helmet gripped to her side and walks across the room towards Byleth. “It is nice to meet you. I am Petra,” she says, smiling. Byleth nods in response.

“I’m Ingrid,” a girl with shoulder length blonde hair says as she steps forward. “I would love to spar with you sometime.”

“So, guess it’s settled, then,” Jeralt announces to the group, turning to Byleth at the last word, “welcome to the Garreg Mach Dragons.”

The rest of practice involved more sparring, foot drills, jabbing swords into the chests’ of dummies, and trying not to stare at anyone for too long. Byleth had become increasingly aware of some of the students’ interest in her, made obvious by passing glances in between reps. Edelgard and Petra chatted quietly during a match between Leonie and Ingrid, and Petra occasionally shot her a curious look. 

Jeralt’s whistle is loud as the sound pierces through the air, signalling the end of practice. The students start to pack their swords and helmets into respective duffel bags, and Byleth watches as her father straightens up some of the recreation room, placing stray blades back on their racks and hanging up protective gear. She watches as they file out, Leonie first as she rushes through the door and swings her bag, Ingrid and Felix staying close but not saying a word to each other. Petra and Edelgard idle by the door, engaged in a conversation Byleth can overhear.

“I can walk with you back to the dorms,” Edelgard says to her. “I’m heading there anyway.”

Petra smiles and looks grateful as she nods. Right as they’re heading out, Byleth can feel a gaze that gives her goosebumps, and she turns to see the white haired girl giving her a final look before stepping out of the doorway. It’s unusual that people’s gazes can have an effect on Byleth— with her difficulty with expressions and near affectless tone, she is usually the one unsettling people with a glance. Jeralt snaps her out of her reverie, slinging the heavy, black bag over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Let’s head back, kid,” he says, motioning towards the door. She nods and follows him, mind drifting back to the readings she’d have to do tonight. Hundreds of pages expected by tomorrow, and she couldn’t bear to make Seteth doubt her even more. It’s a good thing that she never needed much sleep, she thinks to herself as they walk out of the building and into the cool night air.


	3. Edelgard II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regularly scheduled Exec Meetings for the Empire Club.

The clubhouse is alive with the sounds of people when Edelgard gets back from the dorms. After fencing practice, she had agreed to walk Petra back to the underclassmen housing block all the way on the eastern edge of campus, constructing a lie about how she was going anyway. Even though their conversations were masked by a thin veil of forced formality, Edelgard had already started to feel a strange fondness for the girl, young and out of place in a strange country. As they reached the dorms, she had slipped the small, sealed envelope in the girl’s hand with a soft smile. Now, all there was to do was wait for Petra’s response. 

Inside, most of the common space is occupied by people. Caspar lounges on a couch in their living room, one leg draped over the arm, and a box of takeout on his lap. Linhardt sits near him on a plush armchair, in a bath robe and fuzzy, green, house slippers. Strange sounds emanate from the television in front of them, although, with Caspar’s constant state of being hunched over his food, and Linhardt’s near doze, it looks like neither is particularly invested in what’s on the screen. From a distance, Edelgard can also hear the thumping base of loud music coming from one of the bedrooms on the second floor, likely Bernadetta crunching through a paper.

Downstairs, the Empire Exec Board waits for her on crimson bean bag chairs. It’s silly, Edelgard thinks to herself, trying to discuss important club matters while they all sink deeper into the endless bean bags. Unfortunately, the club’s basement game room is the only place they can reasonably reserve for the hour, since all of the common rooms on the main floor are connected in an open plan. And, because the basement consists of just a small gym, laundry room, and then a large game room (fitted with everything but regular chairs), they settle for what they can get.

“You are late, Edelgard,” Ferdinand’s pointed voice calls out as Edelgard walks in. Ferdinand, a rower, pre-law student, and occasional snob, frankly, is the Empire Club’s Treasurer. With his broad shoulders and muscled legs showing through his khaki shorts, he looks comical as his lower body is swallowed by the bean bag. As the semester is already in full swing, his bronzed hair starts to curl down to where his neck meets his shoulders, longer than his usual cut. Hubert shoots him a menacing look at the comment. 

“I apologize for making you all wait; I was walking Petra back to her dorm,” Edelgard responds cooly, trying not to let him get a rise out of her. He’s fond of undermining her position, and if she didn’t appreciate his often relentless optimism and courage to challenge her ideas, she wouldn’t be able to stand a second in the room with him.

“I gave her the bid,” she adds as she brings her bag to the ground and lowers herself to sit in one of the plush sacks, still in her fencing uniform.

“And now we hope for the best,” Dorothea says with a sigh, typing notes into her laptop. A beautiful, kind soul who had a tendency to be harsh on herself, she is the Club’s secretary, and the only current member who isn’t a legacy. All of the other members have parents who were all a part of the Empire during their days at the University, and one of Edelgard’s descendants had been a part of the Empire Club’s founders, spearheading the effort to create the social clubs on campus. Dorothea, on the other hand, is a first generation college student on a full scholarship. Her and Edelgard had Intro to Theatre together their freshman year, and the rest of the rush process came naturally.

“Lorenz told me that he had seen Petra hanging around the Deer Haus with Claude,” Ferdinand brings up, adding more tension to the room. “If she means to pledge with them instead, it will be with no fault but our own.” His voice has the hints of rising anger.

“Do you and Lorenz ever do _ anything _ worthwhile in that boat of yours, or do you just spend it gossiping like children about things you don’t know?” Hubert says to him venomously, looking to cut him like a knife. Because of the seating, his long legs stick out from his body and his knees hang close to his chest, but he rises slightly forward as he speaks, smirking at his last words. As Vice President, Hubert and Edelgard work close together to maintain the club; he deals with internal matters in the House, while Edelgard deals with the often arduous external matters, like meetings with administrators.

“Just because she’s hanging out with them doesn’t mean she’s pledging. Her and I had a _ great _ coffee chat, just so you know,” Dorothea responds, rolling her eyes at him. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t accept our bid soon.”

“She can’t hold off on answering, anyway. I see her every day during practice,” Edelgard adds, annoyance rising in her as much as she tries to suppress it.

“Had I been President, we would not be having this conversation,” Ferdinand says indignantly, crossing his arms. “She would not even _ consider _ pledging anywhere else.”

“You truly are the biggest fool if you think you even stand a chance at the presidency,” Hubert says slyly.

“_Really _, Ferdinand? Tell me how you would’ve expedited this process, please,” Edelgard responds with a rising tone. She can only imagine the day when these meetings don’t turn into a bickering fest within the first ten minutes.

“Ferdie, you talk a big talk for someone who doesn’t even have time to cut his hair,” Dorothea says with a smile forming on her face. Although there is no real animosity between them, she’s always been clear about her occasional... distaste for Ferdinand— his wealthy upbringing, coupled with his apparent lack of self awareness for when he was being obtuse, didn’t always sit well with her. It didn’t help that during their sophomore year, he had nearly thrown up his five cans of beer on her while they were drunkenly hooking up at a party.

Ferdinand’s cheeks flush and his eyebrows furrow as he brings a hand to the back of his neck, curling one of the locks around his finger.

“Palming the back of your neck isn’t going to make it magically disappear,” Hubert’s mocking voice chimes in. “I do hope you know that much about how hair works.”

“I-- My hair is not the point of this discussion!” Ferdinand says defensively, clearly embarrassed by her pointing it out. Dorothea attempts to stifle a chuckle through her palm as she continues typing.

“The point is, we should have started rush at the end of the summer. Incoming students arrive on campus early for orientation,” he remarks after his initial shame begins to die down. “It is too late now, but perhaps we could set a precedent for next semester.”

“Hm, that’s an interesting idea, Ferdinand,” Edelgard responds sincerely, genuinely surprised that she hadn’t come up with the idea herself. Now, there was the Ferdinand she had grown to respect. All of the core exec board was graduating in the Spring, but surely they could train the next set of leadership to do it.

“We should probably get to the actual agenda,” Dorothea adds in, “as much as I love you all, I would rather not spend my entire night here before we hit a single point on it.”

The rest of the meeting seems to fly by as they talk about social mixers, and repairs, and the yearly retreat, and trying to rush new members. Edelgard heads most of the big-plan discussions, weighing in all of the exec board’s opinions about making new positions and holding elections. When the meeting ends, they rise from their sunken seats, and Ferdinand stretches his legs out.

“Going for a run now, Edie?” Dorothea says sweetly as she types down a few more things.

“Yes. Do you mean to join me?” Edelgard returns with a smile. She’s always been the type to prefer running alone, but she knows Dorothea won’t say yes.

“Ah, I have to decline. I have a music composition due tomorrow, so it’s going to be a _ long _ night for me,” Dorothea replies, closing the computer and rising. She smiles at Edelgard before turning to leave, long, flowing skirt trailing behind her as she moves through the basement.

The remaining three walk out in tandem, Ferdinand first, and Hubert and Edelgard trailing behind him. Ferdinand rubs at the back of his neck, running hair through his fingers. 

“Out for a run now?” Hubert says to Edelgard as he walks alongside her on the steps up. She carries her fencing bag with her, and it swings ever slightly against her torso as she makes her way up.

“As usual.”

“Very well,” he says as they reach the first floor, taking a lighter out of his pocket. “Time for my nightly routine.”

After switching out of her fencing gear for something more appropriate, Edelgard stands alone outside on the porch of the Empire Club’s house. This is the part of the night where she winds down, shedding bits and pieces of metaphorical armor and masks, and allows herself to just _ be _. In red leggings and a thin sports jacket that she zips up to the very top, she is no longer Edelgard the President. It has little to do with her clothes, really, but as she bends over to tie knots into her shoelaces, she allows herself to just think freely for the first time since the morning. For hours upon hours, her day to day is spent thinking about her list of endless responsibilities; for the Club, for Fencing, for school work, for extracurriculars, and for other, more secret interests. Day in and day out, she carefully takes passing thoughts and places them into a corner of her mind, shutting the door until the sun has gone down and she’s ready to conclude being responsible, for just a moment.

With gloved hands, she places headphones in her ears and lets her mind wander to the sounds of jazz music. She moves her feet and begins to break out into a sprint, feeling the cool air whip through her hair as the drums in her ears beat louder and louder.

The sensation of fencing is fresh in her mind, and suddenly she remembers the flash of embarrassment after she’d lost her fencing bout, and the coach’s daughter who bested her. Edelgard had tried to spend the practice continuing her conversation with Petra, but kept finding her gaze gravitating towards the new fencer. The young woman’s face is perfectly vivid in her thoughts, glistening with a thin layer of sweat while she runs long, gloved fingers through damp hair to push it out of her face. And then, a small startled look as she walks in the room to see her father impaled by the épée. And even then, a passing moment of eye contact, cool, blue eyes finding violet only for Edelgard to dart away in an instant. She couldn’t have this newcomer think she was staring—who knows what she’d think of it? It was merely a curiosity, nothing more. Edelgard pushes the thought aside and focuses on the ground underneath her sneakers.

At this time of night, the campus grounds are mostly empty, save for a few unlucky souls shuttling to the library or the labs for late night work. On the rare occasion when she passes by familiar faces on her runs, she gives a quick nod and a smile, not stopping to make small talk. These moments, with her feet on the ground and the wind behind her, are for her alone, regardless of who might be privy. Edelgard takes in the sight of the campus as she makes her way along the river’s edge, though she’s seen this hundreds of times before. The low trees that flank the river’s adjacent walkway create a canopy that only become more beautiful as Autumn begins to settle in.

The pathway winds along the river, snaking in long, sweeping arcs as the water turns. With every step further along the sidewalk, Edelgard finds herself thinking about her myriad of stresses: rushing, a ten page paper due in two days, finding time for dinner, even now at almost 9 pm, Petra, fencing, Byleth. 

_ Wait_, she thinks to herself, _ not that last one. Well, maybe_. As the only épée fencer on the team, and one who regularly medals at competitions, she isn’t used to being bested, especially not by a newcomer. It fills her with a strange sensation she doesn’t often feel. When she closes her eyes for a second and sees cobalt irises, she clenches her fists tighter, hearing the leather stretch above her skin.

Now at the far Western edge of campus, bounded by Academic buildings on her right and the Fodlan’s stream to her left, Edelgard turns to cross and go right. While she waits, she pulls out her phone to change songs, and notices three unread text messages. One is from Dorothea. It’s a picture of a rather sad looking golden retriever, and Dorothea captions it: _ This is exactly how Ferdie looked during today’s meeting_, followed by a _ lol. _ Edelgard laughs quietly to herself, and replies _ Hahaha_.

The second text is from Hubert, and all it reads is:_ I got us Thai food. _ She silently thanks him as she likes the message.

The third text is from one Volkhard Arundel, sent about forty minutes prior. She had suppressed the thought of him being around all day, instead choosing to drown herself in her responsibilities, and finds that all of her uneasiness returns before even opening it. Her jacket suddenly feels tight, _ too _ tight, with prickly sensations that ghost on her skin despite nothing being there. 

_ Hello, dear niece. I’ve made a lunch reservation for you, your brother and I at the restaurant on Tome Street. He’s already said yes, will you join us? _

Edelgard scoffs to herself as she reads it, bright light illuminating her face in the night air. He always loved to refer to Dimitri as her _ brother _ rather than what he really was, her step-brother. She wonders, at this point, if he does it just because he knows it gets a rise out of them. Siblings and family have always been a bit of a sore spot for the both of them.

Although they’re step-siblings, Dimitri and Edelgard haven’t been close since they were children. For some time, she had stayed with his family while her father was in intense medical care. However, what was once play sword fighting, and teaching him how to dance when she stayed with them, had become nothing more than a wisp of a memory, lost to every painful memory that came after. For Edelgard, it was the medical experimentation that led her memories of him to become fragmented and lost to time. After returning home, she drew inwards, confiding in no one but Hubert, and occasionally, her father, though those came more as whispers besides his sick bed while he was delirious from medication. Most of her childhood memories of Dimitri come from his re-telling of the events; all she has left from her own mind are ghosts from the past she can’t ever fully make out. As for him, he hasn’t been the same since the fatal car accident that killed much of his family. There was no way their relationship could survive the test of time.

_ He’s so naive_, Edelgard thinks to herself as she crosses and continues running north. As far as she knows, Dimitri knows nothing of her uncle’s sinister business, or their connections to Garreg Mach. She can’t imagine idealizing this school for its supposed values and prestige without seeing the murkiness underneath. She _ especially _ can’t imagine the feeling of sitting in a room with Arundel and knowing nothing, not feeling anger flaring up her mind like flames licking up a wall, threatening to burn everything in its wake. 

Just running adjacent to the laboratories on campus, perpetually lit up through the night with professors and researchers running tests, fills Edelgard with anger. _ It was here_, she tells herself, thinking of the countless fruits of labor that had made their way from these labs and into the scars that mark her skin. _ It was here, it was here_, she repeats it like a mantra, keeping it close to her, lest she forget. As much as she hates her uncle, she hates this institution equally for enabling him. In her eyes, he may have pulled the trigger, but Garreg Mach gave him the gun. _ Rhea _ gave him the gun. 

The music in her ears becomes a cacophony of sound as she reaches the Northern edge of campus and turns right. Drums beat faster and faster and faster as trumpets, clarinets, saxophones, and more instruments that get lost in the madness join in. The faculty housing lies on this side of campus, including a squat apartment building made of brick, and the chancellor’s home. Edelgard wishes she could set fire to the thing and watch its ornate walls burn to the ground, embers rushing by her head and singeing her skin. 

Instead, she turns up and looks at the apartment building as she approaches. It truly is squat, registering at just three stories tall. On its side wall, the one facing her and perpendicular to the street, there are twelve windows, all darkened except for one. One window on the second floor is illuminated by a candle that flickers erratically in the night. She sees it and closes her eyes for a moment, imagining the flames curling around her. She feels its warmth nipping her body.

Finally, Edelgard stops for a moment and opens up her messages. She re-reads her uncle’s message, digesting it one last time. And then she replies, only one hour and four minutes after it was sent, a new record.

_ I’ll see you then. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not a crush, it's competition! and other lies edelgard may tell herself


	4. Byleth II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth adjusts to Garreg Mach, meeting new faces along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, still more character/world introductions! i did warn this was a SLOW burn tho

A shattering sound pierces through the lab while Byleth busily types numbers into a computer. She turns her head sharply, following the noise and the high pitched, _ oh god! _that seems to come from just around the corner. The data input can wait for now, she rules as she gets up from her stool to find the source.

A small girl with ginger hair, parted in the middle and tied up into two bunches, kneels on the floor and makes a sweeping motion on the ground with her hands. In her desperation, she doesn’t notice Byleth appear in the space. Tiny glass shards litter the ground in front of her, and she winces as she brings her right hand up to her face, noticing a small piece of glass embedded in the flesh. A thin stream of blood starts to pour out, streaking the pale skin of her palm.

“Oh, Seteth is going to _ kill me... _” her panicked voice streams out.

Byleth crouches down beside her, and leans in so that she’s in the girl’s periphery. “Do you need any help?”

The girl almost exclaims as she jumps up a bit from her position on the floor, visibly shaken by the new person in her line of sight. 

“No! No, I’m fine!” she stammers, frantically brushing the pieces of glass closer to her. The small streak of blood starts to dot the pearly white lab floors as it falls in tiny droplets. “Nothing broken here!”

“It’s fine, I won’t tell Seteth,” Byleth responds calmly as she starts to look around the room for something to clean up. She rises up and starts rummaging through various cabinets until she finds what she needs, running her fingers on smooth glass beakers, various electronic equipment, and finally a small, handheld broom. “This should help.”

The girl sighs and rests her palms on the indigo fabric of her jeans, watching as Byleth carefully sweeps the glass shards into a dustpan. She smiles at Byleth nervously.

“Thanks,” she says with a small voice. “Are you a new post-doc here?”

“Post-doc?” Byleth questions. She’s not familiar with all the vocabulary associated with research academia, and is just starting to get used to phrases like Principal Investigator and R&D. So far, she’s managed to memorize the names of the equipment she’d be using, and where they’re stored, but not much beyond that.

“I guess not,” the girl says with a chuckle, “that’s just the shorthand for a researcher who’s finished their PhD. I’m Annette.” She gets up from her position on the ground, offering a hand to shake, without remembering the blood streaking down her skin. 

“We should fix that,” Byleth responds blankly, looking down at Annette’s hands curiously. She starts shuffling the contents of the surrounding cabinets again, trying to find something to stop the bleeding. Annette just stands there, looking confused at the strange woman digging through various lab equipment. At last, Byleth finds a small roll of gauze amongst a stack of anti-bacterial wipes. She places a handful of the small, individually wrapped packets on the table by her side. Annette rips one open without grace, and rubs it harshly into her palm.

Byleth methodically unrolls the soft, stretchy material and wraps it around Annette’s hand tightly after she’s done cleaning the small wound.

“I can be such a klutz sometimes,” the smaller girl says bashfully, flexing her fingers and lightly touching the bandage. “I swear, the test tubes here are covered in butter.” Byleth gives her a small smile.

“Are you new, too?” Byleth says, putting the contents of the cabinets back in their respective places. 

“This is actually my second semester working here,” Annete replies joyfully, the excitement in her voice rising. “I started last Spring, as a freshman. And, you must actually be the new research assistant Seteth mentioned!”

Byleth introduces herself with a nod. 

“First real day, huh? I can show you the ropes if you have any questions, I’m pretty familiar with the setup here. Just don’t ask me to handle too many fragile things.” Annette motions to the ground, where her blood is still sprinkled.

“I should get back to what I was doing, lots of data to input.” Byleth walks away without saying goodbye, hearing the sound of her own footsteps on the hard flooring, and hopes that another shattering sound doesn’t join it.

* * *

“Hey, Byleth!” a chipper voice cuts in. It’s Annette again, and she appears in Byleth’s vision soon after her voice does. “Do you have any lunch plans?”

Byleth looks down at the computer screen and looks at the time. _ 1:31 PM _. Hours had passed by while she meticulously combed through data and input it in, and she only now remembers that she needs to eat. Even though it’s tedious and boring work, she finds that she can get sucked into the world of numbers and formulas pretty easily. But, the instant Annette mentions lunch, Byleth feels the all-too familiar grumble coming in at full force, making her wonder how it can just conceal itself so easily. 

“Uh– no. I hadn’t really thought about it. I don’t really know what’s around here.”

“Oh, well! There’s this new grain bowl place that opened up just a few blocks away. And, the Student Complex has a coffee shop, and a burrito place, oh, and there’s Anna’s Burgers to the south,” Annette says excitedly, a gleam in her blue eyes. “But, a few friends and I are meeting up for lunch, and I was wondering if you wanted to join us. We’re actually just having a picnic out by the church.”

“Sure,” Byleth responds, trying to line her voice with a bit of enthusiasm. She forces a small smile out, feeling the muscles in her face contort to play the part. It’s not that she’s _ not _ excited, really, but her face never shows it. This is a fact she’s known all her life, though with just her father, it’s never come up much. Now, surrounded by new faces every day, she tries a bit harder.

“Great! Are you ready to head out?”

Byleth makes a few last minute changes and saves the computer software, leaving printed sheets of tables and formulas strewn across her desk. “Yeah.”

Her and Annette walk side by side out of the lab, following concrete pathways through the campus. On a day like today, the campus is bustling with activities at every corner; students lounge about in the grass and throw frisbees and footballs at each other, others man booths along the path with signage Byleth can’t quite understand. She isn’t a total hermit, but she still isn’t used to the intricacies and rituals of university life.

“What’s going on with all that?” she asks, pointing in the general direction of the stalls.

“It’s Rush Week, so all of the Greek Life and other social clubs are trying to hold events to reach out for new members,” Annette explains, “we’re actually going to a Rush Picnic right now, for my fraternity.”

When Annette notices the slight puzzled expression on Byleth’s face, she elaborates further.

“I’m in a co-ed service fraternity, Beta Lambda. Basically, we do a lot of fundraising events and volunteer work for local charities. We have a big house in the South Campus where all members live, and we’re kind of like one big family.” She smiles at Byleth warmly, and they keep walking along their route, winding their way to the center of campus.

Just as Byleth begins to see the imposing cathedral beginning to rise up in the sky, a voice calls out from her left.“Hey, Annette! Who’s the new girl?” 

The voice appears to have come from a guy in a mustard yellow t-shirt, with DON’T FEAR THE DEER screen printed in bold, black letters. He leans forward against the back of a small booth just off the path, and a smaller boy with large, round glasses sits next to him, fiercely scribbling down on a pad of paper. The large, hand painted sign in front of the booth says JOIN THE DEER HAUS! Annette looks over at Byleth before responding, and then walks up to him.

“This is Byleth,” she says when they get within speaking distance, “she’s a new research assistant at Cichol with me.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Byleth,” the yellow-shirted boy says, extending a hand out with a small grin, “Claude von Riegan.” From up close, Byleth notices the sheen in his dark, slicked back hair, the facial hair that traces the outline of his jaw, and the single, golden hoop earring on his left ear. His green eyes feel warm and calculating at the same time, and she isn’t sure which one is a more accurate read. She extends her hand out anyway, giving him a light shake.

“And this is Ignatz, our very own resident artist,” he says, motioning to the smaller boy. His forest green hair is cut squarely across his forehead in a bowl-cut, and his wireframe glasses hang just over the bridge of his nose as he maniacally scribbles in his seat.

“Done!” Ignatz finally declares, stopping to put the pencil down on the table and push his glasses back up. He flips the sketchpad around to the two girls with a shy grin. On the page, there’s a cartoon girl with dark hair, uneven bangs, and a huge head. In comparison, her body is tiny in its oversized button-up shirt and ripped jeans. Annette giggles as she looks over the drawing, turning to Byleth.

“It’s you!” she giddily exclaims, pointing at the small, cartoon body. Byleth looks down at her outfit, noticing her large button-up shirt, her father’s, and ripped jeans. She looks back up at the caricature of herself, and reaches out.

“Can I keep it?” Byleth asks, feeling the thick paper brush the pads of her fingers.

“Ah, only if you promise to join the Deer Haus,” Claude says in a smooth voice, “otherwise, we’ll just have to hang it up in our house for the world to see, along with the thousand other drawings we have.”

“I—” she starts to respond, before being interrupted by a loud, but muffled ping from Annette. Annette reaches into her pocket and grabs her phone, staring at the screen.

“Sorry, Claude, we should probably get going. The Lions group chat has been asking me when I’d get to the picnic. I think they’re getting antsy without me.”

“Well, here, wait,” he says, ripping the drawing out of the notepad and bringing it down to the table. He scribbles something on the corner of the page, and hands it off to Byleth with one last smile. “Come by any time.”

_ 341 Ferox Place. big golden banner. you can’t miss it. _

Her and Annette keep walking along, and she holds the drawing in her hand gingerly. She can already imagine Jeralt’s laughter when he sees the cartoonized version of his daughter hanging from their shared fridge, so she rolls it up gently and places it in the right pocket of her jacket, taking care not to crease it.

At last, they finally reach the green space in front of the church, and are greeted by a small group that lounges on large, mismatched blankets. Immediately, Byleth notices Felix from the fencing team, in a cobalt flannel shirt, sitting on the blanket besides another young man with tousled, burnt orange hair. 

“Who’s the lovely lady, Annette?” the red haired one says in a sultry voice as he looks up to meet Byleth’s gaze.

“Ignore Sylvain,” Felix spits out at his friend, annoyance dripping from his voice.

Sylvain has an incredulous expression. “What, I can’t even figure out who she is?”

“I know you better than that.” 

On another nearby blanket, a larger man with a snow-white ponytail and shaved sides, and a young woman with thick, pale hair weave together various flowers into small crowns and garlands. Byleth mentally tunes out the back and forth that continues from Felix and Sylvain, who are soon joined by Annette, and watches as their fingers work through the stems and petals. The woman looks up and notices Byleth’s stare, and giggles softly.

“Would you like to make one?” she says softly, beckoning Byleth over. Byleth walks over to the blanket and sits down gently, feeling the soft material underneath, and the sharp weeds poking through the fabric. A basket full of vibrantly colored flowers rests besides the man, who looks up with a rather serious expression.

“These flowers are all from our garden back at the house. Dedue tends to them himself,” the woman says, smiling at him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes. I picked them out myself,” he responds in a deep voice. “You are welcome to any of them.” 

Byleth grabs the first one that catches her eye, a bright, crimson rose amongst a sea of violets and yellows and whites. She turns it in her hand, careful not to prick herself with the thorns. Red has never been her favorite color; she’s always gravitated towards darker, less vibrant shades, but the way a soft dew clings to the petals captivates her.

“My name is Mercedes, by the way. What about you? Are you a new student here at Garreg Mach?” the woman says in a sincere voice. She notices Byleth absentmindedly staring at the flower. “I can teach you how to weave it into a crown, if you’d like.”

“I’m Byleth,” Byleth says as she watches Dedue’s thick, but deft fingers make intricate knots out of the plant life. “I’m not a student here. I’m working at the lab with Annette.”

“Yeah, it’s her second day!” Annette’s cheerful voice jumps in as she appears from behind Byleth. “Oh, Byleth, do you want any food, too? We have a whole spread over here.” 

She moves closer towards the other blanket, where Felix and Sylvain still appear to be in a tense moment, gently placing the rose into the jacket pocket on her left. There are an assortment of sandwiches, skewered vegetables and meats, and hand-pies inside a large woven basket. She grabs a skewer and a hand-pie, grabbing at the closest grilled mushroom on the skewer with her teeth. Annette turns to her and starts to gesture at the other students.

“So, for introductions. You’ve already met Mercedes and Dedue,” she says, hand directed at the other blanket. Byleth takes a bite from the pie, her mouth bursting with heat and spiced meat. “Dedue is the current acting president of Beta Lambda. Mercedes is our House Baker, though that’s not an official position.

“I’m the Social Chair, which means I get to plan all the fun events we do, like this picnic. Sylvain here is the treasurer.” Sylvain gives a small wave in Byleth’s direction.

“And Felix, well… he’s Felix, loved member,” Annette beams at Felix as he diverts his eyes.

“I don’t need an introduction, Byleth and I fence together,” he says as he brings a sandwich to his mouth, his cheeks beginning to flush.

“Well, _ I _ don’t mind the introduction,” Sylvain responds with a smile that almost seems genuine, and turns to Byleth. “You enjoying rush so far? I bet the clubs are _ all _ over you; we don’t get that many new faces here at Garreg Mach.”

In her 24 years, Byleth has never been so immediately thrust into such a vibrant social sphere. The past two days alone, she’s had to interact with more people at a time—outside of fencing tournaments—than ever before. Growing up, she’d regularly see her father and his coworkers or friends, but has never gotten used to being around other people around her age. Social norms and conventions are mostly lost on her. “This is my first rush event. I didn’t know it was happening until now.” She takes another bite from the skewer, this time eating a piece of steak rubbed in spices. “Or, er, what rush was,” she says through a bite.

“Claude and Ignatz tried swaying her with caricatures just now!” Annette interjects in a voice dripping with disbelief.

Felix scoffs lightly and crosses his arms. “If you’re bought that easily, we don’t want you.”

Sylvain reaches a large hand back and scratches his neck. “Felix is just joking,” he says, embarrassment tinging his voice. “We don’t actually take this whole thing that seriously.

“Speaking of serious, though, I’ve heard the Deer and Empire might be going head to head on a pledge,” Sylvain adds, turning to Mercedes and Dedue, who appear to have stopped weaving while the conversation unfolded, sitting closer to the group. 

So far, Byleth has met this bunch from Beta Lambda, and Claude and Ignatz from the Deer Haus, but she’s yet to even see anyone from the supposed Empire. Although she’s only just started paying attention, she’s sure she would have noticed a banner or anything.

Mercedes turns her head closer to Sylvain. “Is that so?” Her high pitched voice is full of thinly-veiled intrigue.

“Yeah, apparently there’s a new transfer student on both their radars. I heard it from both Dorothea and Hilda.” Felix sighs in the background of the conversation, clearly bored by its shift into gossip. Sylvain continues. “I wouldn’t want to compete with Edelgard on anything though, yikes.” 

Byleth’s ears perk up at the sound of that name— Edelgard. Could she be the same white haired girl from the fencing team? Taking a final bite of the meat pie, she lies down on the blanket and gazes at the clear skies above. She would see Edelgard, and the rest of the fencing team, soon enough. Perhaps she’s already met more than a few Empire members, and they’re hiding in the dark, waiting to try to recruit her into things. Or maybe they already know she isn’t eligible. She shakes the thought away, and takes the last bite from her skewer.

When she closes her eyes, her ears fill with the sound of metal clashing on metal, of grunting behind wireframe masks. She can’t wait to fence again, to feel the sweat run down her forehead, to feel the ache in her muscles when she’s pushed herself hard. In the middle of it all, she can see lavender eyes boring down on her, an unbroken gaze that makes her feel uncomfortably warm inside, her skin tickling with heat. The sun shines brightly behind her eyelids, filling her vision with a deep scarlet. For just a moment, she can see the tiny blood vessels making pathways along her vision, skirting across her lids from edge to edge in small blurred streaks. The colors make her remember the crimson flower in her pocket, and she reaches in to feel the petals as the lilac eyes are drowned out by a rippling sea of red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can't tell me this school wouldn't be full of pointless gossip about eachother's lives


	5. Edelgard III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard has lunch with her uncle and step-brother Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the super late update, the end of the semester really got to me! hoping to have a bit more of a regular schedule while im on break but who knows

That night, Edelgard dreams of dying.

She’s twelve again, and in one instance, she’s under the surface, staring up at the threshold that lies above—a dark, reflective boundary that traps her beneath. Her lungs fill up with the substance, burning their way through her nostrils and down her throat. At last, she’s brought back to life with a vice-like grip on her shoulders, dragging her out of the metaphorical water just before suffocating.

Her chest feels overwhelmingly heavy, and the overhead light is bright above her as she gasps for any breaths she can take. She doesn’t even need to look around to realize where she is. Agarthan Tech’s Experimental Medical Center, deep underneath their main laboratories. With an IV in place, and multiple drips of different sizes and colors hooked up to her, it’s hard not to know. In the distance, a mouse squeaks along, noises echoing throughout the frequently empty halls. She shivers.

Everything in Edelgard’s body feels so incredibly hot, as if her blood has been searing its passage along her body. She wants to dig her nails under the skin and pull the burning veins out to ease herself of this pain, but the bloodied bandages that line her skin make it difficult. (_ She’s tried, every other time she’s been here. _) Even still, she traces trembling fingers down the cloth bandages and recoils from the pain of just a simple touch. She bites down on the inside of her cheek to distract herself, and cries out slightly when she feels the sharp pain.

“Edelgard,” a hoarse voice to her right croaks out. “You’re awake.”

She turns towards the voice, where the other bed in the room lies behind a drawn hospital curtain. It’s one of her older brother’s voices (_ Alfons? Reiner? Engel? Somehow, she can’t remember who _), and it sounds so hoarse it’s almost hard to recognize. On most days down here, she’s too sick to move or speak, and whoever lies behind the curtain certainly is, too.

“Where is everyone?” Edelgard’s voice comes out small and frightened, cracking at the last word.

“They’re gone.” He suppresses a cough.

She wants to say, _ I want to go home _, but when she opens her mouth, the words fail to come out. Her throat feels as if it’s closing in on itself, and she’s wracked with grief without fully understanding why. 

“Come here… El,” he says weakly. Edelgard moves to rip the IV from her skin, feeling the quick, sharp pain as it exits her body. Unfortunately, the sensation doesn’t go away when she’s cut off from the fluid, but rather, it multiplies into something much worse. She stumbles over to his side of the room, dragging her feet and tasting blood where she’s been biting inside her mouth. In one fell swoop, she opens the curtain and sees her sibling lying in the bed.

It’s Theodore, her second eldest brother. His chestnut hair is slick with sweat and sticks to his face, which is sunken in and pallid. Emaciated as he is in this state, he looks far beyond his sixteen years. He smiles softly as she emerges, and reaches a hand out slowly to graze her cheek. His hand, although skeletal, is warm against her face, and she leans into it even though the rest of her body already burns with heat. 

“I know how to make the pain go away...” he mumbles out. “I can... get us out of here, El.”

“You don’t.” Edelgard’s voice is more assured now, deeper, questioning, as if she knows something he doesn’t know. In that instant, she doesn’t feel twelve any more, and even though her body is still ablaze under its skin, she feels stronger as she watches the tendons flex and move on her hands. Yet still, her voice breaks. “Stay with me, _ please _.”

Theo’s eyes are unfocused and hazy as her stares past her, his hand falling from her cheek. Matted clumps of brown hair begin to fall off of Edelgard’s head in waves, landing on his body. He’s sixteen and barely alive, withering away in the bed and engulfed in the remnants of her hair. She moves to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly, pleading in her voice.

“I made it out, Theo, I… I can take you with me, _ please _ just stay.”

The words are lost on him as he starts to convulse, eyes and hands shut tight against the sheets. Her vision blurs as she watches the horror unfold before her, his body contorting into an inhuman form, matted and soaked black feathers sprouting from underneath his skin. This isn’t the first time she’s seen this sight before, she remembers now as her body stiffens, and certainly won’t be the last, the gruesome image burned into her memory.

The beeping of the heart monitor is deafening against her ears, rapidly calling attention to the doctors whose footsteps can be heard running through the halls. Theo scarcely looks like a boy any more, a painted picture of red and purple and black. Edelgard can feel warm streaks running down her cheeks and down her chin, and her heart starts to beat rapidly in tandem with the monitor, threatening to explode out of her chest.

* * *

Edelgard wakes with the front of her shirt tightly clutched under a fist, curled up in her silk sheets and covered in sweat. Expensive and useful as they are, even the silk is no match for her recurring nightmares. She can feel her heart drumming underneath the knuckles that rest on her chest, a steady, rapid thumping, but normal nonetheless. She lets out a quick sigh of relief and loosens her grip, turning over on the bed so she’s lying on her back. The dream won’t escape her thoughts, and she remembers her lunch with Volkhard later. (_ Theo would have been 26 today _.)

Her phone is on the nightstand to her right, and she grabs it to check the time and to distract herself. _ 5:31 AM _ , and 43 unread messages from the Empire group chat, or as it’s currently named, _ welcome to the black eagles parade _. Just reading the title fills Edelgard’s mind with the bloodied feathers from her dream.

Caspar has been up all night sending messages because of Garreg Mach’s Annual Hackathon, but it seems like he’s more interested in making memes and raving about anime than in working on his code. Dorothea indulged him with likes and half-hearted _ lmao _s, and Linhardt submitted his own edits until about 12AM, when he presumably fell asleep. Hubert occasionally chimed in to criticize his sense of humor. Edelgard opens one of the images, which is just a picture of Caspar and his hackathon partner-slash-friend, Ashe, standing together with “LITERALLY NOTHING, WE JUST STANDING” in big, white letters. She doesn’t really understand it, but she notices that both Dorothea and Linhardt have left a like.

_ Did you finish your project, Caspar? _ She sends into the chat, and is surprised when she receives an almost immediate response. 

_ Eh. Ashe is debugging whatever we have now just gonna submit that whenever hes done. _

Edelgard sends a thumbs up, and closes the chat. Though it’s half an hour earlier than the normal start of her day, she decides to get up from the bed. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the limited light that filters into her room casts a blue hue on the white walls of the room. In the quiet of the morning, all she can hear is the occasional creaking of the old home, and a slight movement downstairs. Likely Ferdinand about to head out.

Before heading to the bathroom, she places a palm on her chest again, feeling the thump underneath. _ Normal _.

* * *

As Edelgard approaches the Tome Street intersection, she feels her body tense. In just one right turn, she’ll be at Ephraim’s, a quaint, locally owned restaurant popular among the professors. Her fingers clench slightly, and the sensation of the silk gloves stretching above her skin calms her a bit. The weather today is still warm enough to wear shorts, so she wears black shorts over maroon stockings, and a thin white blouse with a high collar that hugs her neck. She bites the inside of her cheek and braces herself for the turn.

Immediately upon turning, she can see her uncle waiting alone at the restaurant, seated at a small, round table in front of the establishment with one leg crossed over the other. His long, brown hair looks well kept, brushed back so it hangs off the back of his head rather than falling in front, and he wears a fitted, charcoal-colored suit with a crimson tie that almost makes him look handsome. 

Edelgard walks towards the table with a cold smile, and Volkhard immediately rises to greet her when he notices her presence.

“You look lovely, Edelgard.” He clasps her hand between both of his firmly, and his slender, bony fingers against her own make her shudder. “Please, sit.”

“As do you, Uncle,” she responds, looking into his lilac eyes for just a moment. They’re captivating, a swirling disk of purple hues contrasted with the sharp lines of his eye and lashes, much like her own. Looking at him up close like this, Edelgard loathes how much she resembles him. Her mother’s brother in every way, with the same long eyelashes and sharp facial features that they all share. She has to look away before she spirals, pulling the chair out from under the table and taking a seat.

“Where is your brother?” he questions absently, looking down at his watch as he takes a seat. 

Edelgard recoils at the word and crosses her arms, staring off into the interior of the restaurant behind the glass pane. A few patrons nibble on sandwiches and salads, while others sit at tables that have nothing but drinks, boisterously gesturing at their companions. _ That _ would certainly make this lunch more bearable for everyone involved. “I know just as much as you do.”

“Well, it still isn’t time for our reservation, yet. You and I are just early birds.” His small grin is wicked as he says the words. As much as she has a tendency to compare herself to him, especially in regards to their physical appearance, she hates when he tries to point out deeper similarities between them.

“I suppose so.”

Before Edelgard has the chance to draw blood from the inside of her cheek, she notices a tall figure approach the table from her peripheral vision.

“Edelgard. Uncle.” The voice is deep and has hints of weariness. She recognizes it instantly, and turns to face her step-brother.

“Hello, Dimitri.” 

Dimitri looks a bit unwell as he moves to sit down at their table. His blonde hair, normally trimmed neatly, nearly reaches his shoulders and flops over his eyes. As for his eyes, a deep, dark color circles his eyes in a way that makes him look like he hasn’t slept in months. To think Edelgard thought _ her _ dark circles were bad. On top of it all, he wears a large, blue hoodie that hangs over his frame loosely, and looks like it hasn’t been washed in… she doesn’t want to know how long. She’s seen this kind of thing happen to people at the University often enough, and even though they aren’t close, she hopes it’ll pass for him. He’s always been rather… tortured, especially around this time of the year. The anniversary of the accident always stings him hard.

“Delighted to see you could make it, Dimitri,” their uncle says, holding out a slender hand across the small table. Dimitri stares blankly at him, not noticing the invitation to shake hands. Volkhard retreats his hand and makes a snapping motion at the nearby waitress, a young girl with red hair. “Ready to order, kids?”

The waitress looks caught off guard as she saunters over to their table, pad and paper in hand. Edelgard peers over at the menu quickly, eyeing elaborate sandwiches and salads. She’s been here many times in her almost-four years as a student, on Sunday-morning hangover brunch runs with the Eagles, recruitment lunches, and professor networking dinners. The selection doesn’t really change.

“I’ll have the steak, rare,” Volkhard says smugly as he glances over at the waitress again, seemingly taking sick pleasure in her nervousness. “And a glass of your merlot.”

“Seafood soup, please.” Edelgard places the menu back on the table before looking back at Dimitri. She notices his right eye staring off a bit ahead as he reads the menu below—an unfortunate side effect of the glass prosthetic. “Water is fine.”

“I’ll take the mac and cheese.”

The waitress shuffles away, giving a cheery _ “I’ll be right out with your drinks” _before disappearing inside the restaurant. The remainder of the time spent waiting for their lunch to come out is awkward, filled with long silences and unfinished conversations. And, as much as Edelgard loves occasional silence, these moments are deafening as she feels the weighted and tense air that surrounds the table. 

“The Mouth of the Dragon Regatta is coming up,” she says to Dimitri, hoping he’ll engage just long enough for their food to come out. “Ferdinand’s been talking about it non-stop.” _ Ferdinand’s also been complaining incessentantly about Dimitri’s mental well-being taking a toll on his performance on the team, _ but she doesn’t mention that part.

“I’ll definitely have to make a point to attend,” their uncle joins, taking a sip from his wine. “I used to be a rower, myself, you know.”

“We know; you’ve told us this story before, uncle.” Edelgard has to force the words to come out with a little less poison.

“Did you ever participate in the Mouth of the Dragon?” Dimitri questions, sending a shock of annoyance down Edelgard’s spine. She always forgets that not everyone detests him, least of all her step-brother.

“I did. Garreg Mach always blew us out of the water.” Volkhard laughs. “Training hard, I imagine?”

“As best as I can, given everything.” Dimitri sounds uncomfortable as he says the last part quietly. Edelgard shifts in her seat, watching his glassy stare as she remembers her dream again. Theo’s birthday, the car crash, their mother’s disappearance years ago… this day was bound to be a ticking time bomb for self-destructive thoughts. Their uncle takes another sip of wine, looking to shift the conversational tone.

“What about you, Edelgard? What’s new in your life?”

“We have a new fencing coach,” she says after a second, a safe answer. Not revealing too much, while also showing a semblance of participating. “Hopefully the sudden change won't throw off the season.”

“Felix said the same,” Dimitri responds cooly. “He also mentioned the coach’s daughter, who, if I recall, cleared out your perfect record.”

“It was just once,” Edelgard snaps back quickly. Her face grows with warmth at the sudden memory of being beaten, and her mind is flooded with the image of this coach’s daughter, Byleth. She’d gone the entire beginning of the day without letting the thoughts of this stranger run rampant in her mind, and now they’re coming back. “I was already worn out when we started.”

“Ever competitive, El.” He chuckles softly, looking over at the waitress who was now approaching with three plates of food.

The rest of their meal is spent mostly in silence as they all ate their respective dishes. Edelgard spoons soup into her mouth and tries to think of the classes she has for the rest of the day, of the piles of work already accumulating. She finds her thoughts wandering more than usual, imagining Byleth training alone, sweat beading down her face, and Edelgard feels her face warm up at the thought. She wonders what Petra is up to, if she’s agonizing over the decision between the two clubs. She remembers Theo again, and the rest of her siblings, reimagining the occasional raucous dinners spent at long tables when they were all together and alive. The warmth disappears instantly. For the first time in a while, she doesn’t feel immediately angered by the thoughts, and instead feels a wave of melancholy wash over her.

_ It’s too early for this, _she thinks to herself as she has another spoonful of soup. With her free hand, she softly pulls her phone out of her pocket and lights up the display under the table. She doesn’t care if Arundel gets upset or calls her rude for doing it over lunch, but she’d rather not read her messages in a place where he might see them.

_ We lost Lol _is the first message she sees, sent from Caspar.

_ Sorry, Cas, always next time _from Dorothea.

_ u guys really stayed up all night, huh _from Linhardt.

_ Well if u guys happen to have any need for a cat sorting algorithm, Ive got a half assed one, _Caspar sends out.

_ anyone have the orgo notes from today? missed lecture, _again, from Linhardt, twenty minutes after.

_ Yeah, the professor. _Hubert’s response.

_ very funny hubert, _ from Linhardt.

_ I have notes from last year _ writes Dorothea, and then: _ Hanneman definitely hasn’t changed the course in like 80 years. _

Edelgard looks up from her phone to see her uncle staring at her, lips starting to tint a red-violet around the edges.

“Rush week,” she lies before he has the chance to speak up. “I have to coordinate with the other Club members.”

“Ah, that silly little group of yours, right,” he says with a smirk. “Aren’t you involved in something like that, Dimitri?” Dimitri pauses mid-bite of mac and cheese, a hint of pain in his eye.

“Er… I was. I still live in the house, but someone else has filled my role in my absence.” 

Edelgard looks over at him in confusion; this is the first she’s heard of this, and gossip travels around Garreg Mach like wildfire. He stares blankly into his meal, and Edelgard finally speaks up, letting her curiosity get the better of her.

“Someone else?” His stare seems to soften a bit at the sound of her voice, and he turns to face her.

“Dedue has stepped up in my stead. He’s much more fit to lead the group than I am, in this state.” Dimitri’s tone is sad, and for once, Edelgard doesn’t know what to do in this situation. 

One one hand, she does feel sad for him, for the person he used to be to her, and she wants to try to comfort him. On the other, she doesn’t understand why he lets himself get so consumed by his own darkness. But, she knows that saying so would only upset him more, so she stays quiet and finishes her soup, letting the silence envelop them.

They all finish their meals without saying another word, and the waitress cuts through the silence with a quick “_ Take your time” _as she places the bill on the table. Edelgard sips her water slowly and stares off beyond the tables of the restaurant.

Thoughts of the day, of little paper envelopes and bloodied black feathers that look like they’re dipped in tar and the sound of metal hitting metal, start filling her mind like water rushing into a room. She’s not used to her mind wandering as much as it has lately, and she tries to shake the thoughts away, but they keep leaking through. Sensations of burning veins and the smell of formaldehyde and empty eyes. The visions make her breath quicken, and her heart drums unsteadily in her chest again, filling her with an incredible heat.

“I have to go to class, uncle,” Edelgard says quickly, loosening her grip on the water cup. _ Any excuse to get out of there _, fast. “Thank you for the lunch. It was nice to see you both.”

Though her mind races with unpleasant thoughts, she knows she’s at least keeping an outward appearance of composure, eyes steely and voice steady. She rises up from the table, silently thanking the soft breeze for cooling her burning skin.

“We must do this again sometime, kids,” comes her uncle’s voice.

“Of course, uncle,” she responds, turning away from the table without looking at either of them as she says it. She hopes that whenever that is, it isn’t soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise there will be edeleth action soon lol im just BUILDING to it


	6. Byleth III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Edelgard spar during fencing practice.

With a quick jab of her wrist, Byleth sends the metal tip of her rapier into the padded practice dummy, watching her form in the floor-length mirror in front of her. It feels off. For the past three hours, Byleth had been restless in the lab, trying to input miles of information but unable to truly focus. It was a wonder she managed to finish early and convinced Seteth to let her go home; with nothing pressing to make her do in just an hour, he had no reason to make her stay.

She watches her footwork, watches the way she almost lunges forward with another strike, trying to come up with ways to improve but hitting a blank.

With just a stationary dummy and one sword, all she can do is run drills and stare at her reflection until the rest of the team arrives in a little over half an hour. Her dad was probably off at some meeting he didn’t care for, shuttling back and forth from building to building just because he feels indebted to the Chancellor. She notices the way he seems to get busier as the days go by.

As Byleth lurches forward for another jab, she hears the door to the recreation room creak open slowly. She turns her head to the sight of Edelgard walking in, a picture perfect display of tied up white hair against white uniform. She looks almost shocked as she walks in, but she hides it well, eyes focused on nothing as she carries her bag to the wall.

“You’re early,” Byleth says without looking, watching the way the clock on the wall ticks around _ 4:32 _. If Edelgard heard her, she doesn’t seem to care, because she says nothing, fixated on tightening the various straps of her uniform. Her expression is mostly blank, mouth forming a hard line as she focuses her grip on the helmet, facial muscles tensed. 

“Want to spar?” Byleth questions when the other woman doesn’t respond, turning to face her. Edelgard looks up, unclenching her jaw and swallowing thickly.

“Sure,” she responds in a blasé tone, raising the mask to her face.

It only takes a moment before she’s poised and ready to attack, feet planted firmly on the ground as she waits for an opening. Byleth mirrors her movement, standing guard opposite to her, making sure to keep her breath steady as she prepares to strike.

God, she’s been waiting all day for this. Her whole body is alight, electricity running through her veins like fire as she awaits Edelgard’s attack. They move forward together in sync, reaching out with an offense together.

Metal side sweeps into Byleth’s bicep, sending a shock of pain through her arm. That was sure to leave a bruise. If they were fighting with the sabre, that would be it, game. But, as the two épée players, they both understand that she’s a target to be hit, not a punching bag to be swung at. Although Byleth fights in all three, she remembers that rule well, biting her lip as she readies herself for another attempt.

“You’re strong,” she says, feeling the burn radiating up to her shoulder, “but you need to work on your aim. Swinging won’t help you here.”

Edelgard huffs to herself, driving the sword back and coming in again with a forward lunge. “I’ve been doing this for 18 years.” Her voice comes out muffled slightly from the mask.

“I’ve got you beat. 22.”

Edelgard doesn’t respond, but Byleth hears a small _ heh _behind the mask as she parries back, sending the tip directly into Edelgard’s right breast.

“Again.”

Byleth catches her breath for a moment, watching the clock on the wall change to _ 4:39 _ as she braces herself for another attack. Immediately, she dodges, sidestepping to get herself out of Edelgard’s range. Her left shoulder still throbs, but she bites through the pain and lunges forward once again.

Edelgard dodges and returns with another hit, feet adjusting so she can send all of her body weight forward and narrowly missing. She stumbles slightly as she tries to regain her footing, and Byleth meets her neck with the tip of the épée, skewing the netted mask on her face. 

“In another time, you would’ve been great with a sword,” Byleth says calmly, noticing the way Edelgard holds back breathlessness. “But, these hits won’t kill me, so no need to put so much power into them.”

“I know,” she almost _ snaps _ back, adjusting the visor with her free hand. “It’s been a long day, let’s just go again.”

Byleth says nothing, just obliges her with bout after bout. Clearly whatever is on her mind is hindering her performance. She’s sloppy; her hits aren’t as accurate as the last time they sparred, and she’s putting too much weight into her strikes, seriously hindering her mobility. Their last fight had been more of a challenge, with Byleth almost losing control of the situation after Edelgard’s brutal offensive. Today, it’s almost _too_ _easy_, and Byleth feels bad, feels guilty that she’s being handed victory on a platter without working for it. In between thrusts, she tries to think of a way to get Edelgard’s mind off of whatever she’s thinking about.

“My dad says you’re a legacy,” Byleth finally says in between a dodge, breath catching slightly as she narrowly avoids a jab. “That your parents came here, too.”

Edelgard doesn’t respond for a second as she retreats slightly and holds her ground.

“I am. I can recognize my own privilege when I see it.” This time, her voice is steady and assured, restraining a pant as she speaks. “Most of the students here are.”

Byleth doesn’t know what else to say, didn’t plan how to continue the conversation beyond the question, and loses her focus for a second as she tries to improvise. Edelgard lurches forward, at once catching Byleth off guard and driving the tip right into her chest.

Lowering her sword, Edelgard finishes her train of thought. “Though most wouldn’t take so kindly if you implied they didn’t earn their spot here.”

“I didn’t imply that,” Byleth says, taking a step forward. “Again?”

“Well, most people do when they ask. And yes.”

“I’m not most people.”

At once, they’re in this dance again, a back and forth clashing of swords, sweat starting to drip down Byleth’s forehead underneath the stuffy mask.

Byleth can tell Edelgard is tiring out behind her haughty exterior, breathing more quickly and heavily after any movement. Her voice comes out as she catches her breath and simultaneously steps back.

“And what about you? Where did you go to school?”

Another dodge, another missed connection. Edelgard is quicker now, more focused, slowly returning to a shadow of her skill even as she tires out.

“I didn’t go to college.” Byleth pauses while she collects herself and prepares to strike. “My dad and I travelled too much.” And a lunge.

“How’d you end up in the Cichol Lab with no credentials?” Edelgard’s tone has hints of curiosity without being accusatory.

Byleth is thrown off. “How did you know that I worked there?” A swipe and a stab, narrowly missing Byeth’s chest.

“It’s a small school, and Cichol is reputable. Gossip travels.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Byleth responds, a bit breathless now. She’d been keeping a steady pace before, maintaining a layer of calm while Edelgard struggled more and more, but she finds her breathing getting labored by the second as Edelgard picks up the pace. “I hadn’t heard of it before coming here.”

Her reply comes out with a hint of bitterness, trailing off slightly in volume as she reaches her last words. “You and I aren’t so different after all, then.” 

“I guess not.” Byleth knows it’s true, knows that her father and Rhea had pulled some strings to land her the position, and even though she has known this since they offered it to her within a day of mentioning it as a possibility, she hadn’t yet thought to feel _ guilty _ about it. She doesn’t think it’s Edelgard’s intent to make her feel bad, but clearly the idea leaves her with a bad taste in her mouth.

She wants to change the subject again, now kind of enjoying the back-and-forth but trying to escape the uncomfortable feeling that’s emerging in the air. There’s silence for a few moments, each catching their breath as they ready themselves again. Then comes the sound of grunts and shuffling feet and sometimes the sweet sound of lightly clashing metal, reverberating in Byleth’s ears like a gentle hum.

“What really happened to the old coach?” she finally says when they’re back in full swing, looking for both answers and an excuse to fill the space with their voices.

“What?” Edelgard pauses, taking a step back in retreat. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“No.” Byleth responds quickly, still trying to squeeze in through the other woman’s defense as she speaks. “I mean, yes, but not in that way. I thought it’d make you fight better.”

The uncomfortable silence returns, and Edelgard doesn’t know what to say to that, but she keeps moving backwards and dodging.

Byleth finds she enjoys conversation, even meaningless ones, after years of so little. She’s interested in the sound of her voice and the reactions of people around her in ways she had never even realized growing up. She doesn’t feel herself become _ talkative, _not by any means, but it’s nice to simply say things every once in a while, just to say them.

She also finds herself thinking out loud more than usual. “Also, it’s just kind of nice to talk.”

Edelgard makes a small noise, inaudible if Byleth hadn’t had her ears primed and ready in the middle of their fight. She can’t tell, what with the mesh coverings over both their faces obscuring both their expressions, but she feels like Edelgard might have smiled a little bit at that.

“Well,” Edelgard starts as her movement begins to slow, “like you, he thought he could challenge me on a bad day.” Her voice takes on a more serious tone. “So, I broke every bone in his wretched body.”

And then she goes for a side sweep, intentionally this time, which almost hits Byleth on her bruised shoulder had she not swung her sword arm out and deflected. Instead, the tip of the metal stings her fingertips as it collides against the glove. While Byleth still processes the strange response and the sudden shock in her hand, Edelgard retracts her sword, lunges forward and delivers a quick and final stab right in the center of Byleth’s padded chest. Game.

“What?” she adds with a small chuckle as she removes her mask and wipes sweat off her forehead with the back of a hand. “I was just kidding.” Her smile is wry, and her eyes are softer than when she came in, dark cloud lifting at the sound of her own joke.

Byleth doesn’t think she fully understands this woman’s sense of humor, and she can only imagine the look of puzzlement, or blankness, or who-knows-what that paints her face when she removes the helmet from her face and shakes the sweat off.

When Byleth doesn’t answer, Edelgard keeps going. “He was on vacation with his wife and he got injured. Rumor is he’s not very good at surfing.”

Today, this girl doesn’t seem so _ intimidating _ or _ calculating _ or _ analytical _. Maybe a bit strange, sure, (and Byleth was, too, to a lot of people) but her gaze doesn’t pierce right through Byleth in a way that makes her shake. Still, it feels like there is something she’s hiding behind jokes that don’t land and aggressive self-confidence.

Byleth shrugs off the thought, focusing again on the pain on her right arm now that they both seem tired out. Unclasping the neck piece, she peels the uniform back and exposes the skin on her shoulder blade. Edelgard turns away, choosing to focus on searching through her bag in the corner of the room. On the surface it’s already begun to discolor with purple and blue hues swirling around a small, cigarette sized welt.

Byleth rubs the surface of the bruise, feeling the stinging sensation at her touch. “You got me pretty bad.”

Edelgard looks over from where she’s crouched over, lavender eyes glancing over the damage before quickly returning to what she’s doing. Even though she’s cast in a bit of a shadow, body facing the wall away from where Byleth stands, Byleth can see a faint blush tinting the tips of her ears through the mirror.

“Shouldn’t have let your guard down.” Edelgard responds without making eye contact, seemingly pretending to be too busy to even spare a look. “The rest of the team will be here any minute.”

Byleth is confused at the last part of her sentence, and she runs her hands over her bruised skin, trailing through where the tough shoulder muscle joins with the muscle of her chest and then meets her exposed collarbone, trying to find some comfort in the touch.

Edelgard answers her question. “In case you wanted to cover up before they got here.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t even realized how much of her skin was exposed, bare flesh from neck to the end of her shoulder, and everything in between except for the band of black sports bra. It doesn’t bother her, but she rolls the sleeve back up and clamps the rest together as Edelgard finishes up whatever she was doing.

And just like that, her father is coming through the door in a grey sweatsuit as the clock strikes _ 4:54, _ slinging a navy blue duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey kid,” Jeralt says with a wave as he strides in, “you’re here early, sneaking off from the lab already?”

“I finished my work, and Seteth let me go.” Her father doesn’t question it, just nods in response as he tries to set up for today’s practice. She drops the épée and ties her hair back, feeling the short ones at the back of her neck cling to her skin even as she cools down. Edelgard leaves the room with her metallic water bottle in hand, stepping out before anyone else enters. 

Other teammates start to filter in as the clock ticks closer to 5—first is Leonie, who excitedly chats up Jeralt as soon as she walks in, almost effectively ignoring Byleth’s silent presence as they all start to set up more practice dummies. Then, Petra walks in, greeting everyone by name, even going as far as calling Jeralt _ Captain Eisner, _which he politely requests she never use again.

Edelgard returns, too, in another moment, pale face glistening with what Byleth can only imagine is sink water thrown on her face. She sees Petra on the other side of the room and goes to her, speaking softly to her about who knows what. Byleth doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but she notices the way Edelgard’s body language instantly shifts now that other people are in the room, and how her voice, previously showing signs of slow bubbling emotions under the surface, is now steadily projecting confidence and calm. Maybe it was the repeat bouts, exhausting the feelings out of her. Or, maybe this is just what she was used to doing. 

Lastly, Ingrid and Felix enter together, mostly silent as they move through the room and try to get set up.

Jeralt clasps his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get started.”

His structure hasn’t changed since when Byleth used to sit in on other kids’ private lessons, save for an increased intensity. First is stretching, and they all line up against the mirrored wall as they stretch out their hamstrings and quads and every other major muscle in their body. In the middle of a calf stretch, arms pressed against the mirror, Byleth glances down the row of students to where Edelgard stands across the room, loose hairs freeing themselves from her ponytail and sprinkling her face. She looks focused on her stretch, eyes closed tightly and head turned down to the floor. Byleth turns back to face herself and focus, too, staring down at her reflection in the mirror.

Then, it’s warm-up drills, a series of fast paced repetitions meant to get their blood pumping and bodies ready. Byleth is used to the feeling that the exercises give her; burning from the base of her knee to the line where her leg meets the hip, and a slight tightness in the calf, and it makes her feel good, feel alive and in the moment.

Practice flies by, with repetitive sparring and more drills. Jeralt tells Byleth to work on the sabre with Felix and Petra, doing bouts one by one and giving tips in between. They both don’t speak much, a deadly concentration in their eyes made ever clear by how they both make her struggle to fight back. With the quick speed of the sabre, limited target zone, and lack of a counter attack, she pales in comparison to her skills on the épée.

Petra, even as just a sophomore, sets her record at _ 6-4 _ in her favor in just the span of ten minutes, striking with a speed Byleth didn’t even know was entirely possible. Felix puts up a good fight, too, with _ 5-5 _. Still, she manages to find things to critique them on—wrong footwork that’ll lead to a sprain down the road, overextension of the arm, a strike a bit too hard.

While she watches Petra and Felix spar, supposedly paying looking out for pointers to give, she looks back over at where her father and Edelgard stand head to head. Dangerous as ever, Jeralt spars in his sweats, dodging Edelgard’s hits left and right, narrowly avoiding sure fire bruises. Up against him, Edelgard tires out more easily as she desperately tries to get an opening. 

Byleth finds herself doing this often, shooting small glances without knowing why, eyes obscured by netting so no one could tell she was getting distracted. When they all move on to target practice, she watches as the other players talk amongst themselves while they busily stab at plush dolls. Her father paces behind them and comments on their form or technique.

When the clock strikes _ 7 _ and the whistle sounds through the air, practice is over. As the team starts to pack up their equipment and unfasten uniforms, Byleth starts to organize spare equipment that’s been littered on the floor. They filter out more slowly than they came in, lingering enough to chat with Jeralt or exchange jokes with their teammates.

In the middle of a crouch, legs burning while she disassembles a practice dummy, Byleth sees a shadow cast over her, and turns up to face whoever is there. Edelgard stands over her, small in stature normally, but towering in their relative positions. She still remains stoic, shoulders back and eyes cool, even as she holds out a slip of paper.

“It’s my phone number,” she says cooly, the small slip held gingerly between her index and middle fingers. “If you find yourself getting out of work early again, we can practice.”

Byleth takes it with a gentle nod, studying the number for a second before stuffing it in her sock. She doesn’t really call, or text people, having had the same old flip phone for the past eight years and no one she ever needed to reach. But, she doesn’t say that, just keeps it in mind, wondering if maybe she could start.

The white haired woman walks away without saying a word after that, Byleth moving onto the next dummy as the rest of the students start to leave. She turns to the door as Edelgard is leaving, smiling as Petra says something inaudible. 

“Looks like we’re all done here, kid,” Jeralt says as he puts his hand on Byleth’s shoulder.

As they walk out, Byleth fishes for her phone in her bag, the barely used brick of technology that’s only ever had three contacts: her father, her father’s old co-worker from when she was younger, and the number to their favorite sushi restaurant in Enbarr, the city they spent a lot of their time in. She holds her bag on her shoulder, the slip in her right hand and the phone in her left, typing the number into the display when they climb down the stairs.

Texting, as it turns out, is pretty hard when the keyboard is still just twelve buttons, but she manages to get one sent before they’re crossing an intersection and she needs to look up again.

_ it’s byleth_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and finally we are getting somewhere


	7. Edelgard IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra is initiated into the Empire Club, and Edelgard has a mild texting problem.

In the light of just five flickering candles, Edelgard remembers just how  _ stupid _ she finds these rituals. The seven of them—Hubert, Ferdinand, Caspar, Lindhardt, Bernadetta, Dorothea, and herself—stand in the basement game room of the Empire Club’s house, lights off and small windows shuttered completely to shroud them in darkness. They all wear velvet cloaks, hoods pulled up so it partially obscures the face, maroon fabric dragging to the floor by their feet. The insignia of the Club, the twin headed eagle, is embroidered on the back, black wings proudly stretched out over their shoulder blades.

From the opposite end of the room, she hears Linhardt yawn. “Do we really have to do this every time?”

“Yes!” Ferdinand exclaims, his voice booming slightly throughout the empty room. “We all had the chance to experience it, it is only fair we keep up the tradition for new members.” He runs a gloved hand through the fringe of his hair, growing in just above his eyes, and pushes it to the side of his face.

“It’s a bit… outdated,” Edelgard replies. There are a lot of things Edelgard loves about being in the Club—the camaraderie, most of all—but, there are also a lot of things she doesn’t care for. She can do without rituals and fanfare. However, in the grand scheme of things, Edelgard has bigger problems to worry about than wearing a cloak once a year and standing around in the dark, so she doesn’t fight it terribly.

“We can always do away with the archaic traditions of our forefathers, Edelgard.” Hubert chimes in, as if reading her mind, “even if  _ some _ would disagree.”

He smiles wickedly at Ferdinand. Even though they all match in their robes, Hubert looks the most like a vampire emerging from the shadows: sharp cheekbones sinking into a draping hood, and a long, slender body.

“You cannot just  _ change _ centuries of tradition, Hubert.” Ferdinand spits back. “The Empire Club spans a rich, storied history, and it should not be erased.”

He stands up straighter, puffing his chest out slightly, and continues. “I would think you would all agree, considering you all took the oaths.”

The candles in the center of the room, gaudy red monstrosities of varying lengths, thicknesses, and etchings are melted to various states of decay from years of ritualized ceremony. Edelgard is sure some of these have been around for decades, since she’s never had to personally acquire them in three years of running initiations. Amongst the candles, what was once a polished stone bust of a man with long hair and piercing eyes sits, covered in red wax drippings that obscure most of its features.

“I like the cloaks,” Caspar says, body shifting slightly as he nudges Linhardt in the side. “Feels like we’re in some kind of cult.” He lets out a laugh.

“Cult?!” comes Bernadetta’s nervous voice. “Have these past four years been a ploy to get me to join a  _ cult _ ?”

Dorothea’s hand is swiftly on Bernadetta’s shoulder as she speaks to her softly. “Bernie, if we were in a cult, you’d know by now.”

Edelgard sighs to herself, hoping that this ritual would pass by quickly so they could continue with the less… dated activities, like the catered dinner and subsequent party. Petra is supposed to be there any second now, and Edelgard sneaks her phone from underneath the robe to check the time and make sure she’s not losing it.  _ 7:59 pm _ .  _ Just one minute _ .

While she fidgets with her phone, she also notices a message from one Byleth Eisner, who for the past few days, has developed a kind of rapport with her over text. She decides one minute is enough time to read and respond, or at least read, telling herself the curiosity of not knowing would distract her from her presidential duties tonight, anyway.

_ did u know that there are stray cats all around campus _ reads the latest message, followed quickly by:  _ id send pics but no camera. _

Of course Edelgard knows about the stray cats on campus. It’s hard not to, especially when she’s spent nearly four years on this campus. She smiles to herself at the thought of the other woman, so stiff and wooden at times, on her knees in the middle of the campus, fingers gently scratching behind the ear of a kitten.

_ Yes, I’m aware,  _ she responds quickly, fingers typing underneath the thick cloak.  _ And don’t worry, I can picture it.  _ A voice bumps Edelgard out of her momentary distraction, and she hurries to shove her phone back in her pocket as she snaps her head up.

“Does someone have the chalice?” Dorothea asks with a worried tone. “Petra is gonna be here any minute now.”

“I believe that is the Treasurer’s responsibility,” comes Hubert’s accusatory tone, eyes squinting to glare at Ferdinand through the hood of his robe. “All of our relics are stored with you.”

“It is not,” Ferdinand responds assuredly, turning towards the other end of the room. “When we appointed Caspar as Rush Chair for the term, we had agreed to turn over that duty to him.” 

Caspar looks nervous as he’s being called out, blue eyes widening and head snapping up, making his hood slide down the back of his head. “What? I didn’t know about that!”

The doorbell rings, and at once they all look at each other in the dimly lit room, feet shuffling as they try to figure out what to do. 

Edelgard hears Linhardt yawn again, waving a hand in front of his mouth. “What if we just say  _ screw it _ to the whole cup thing?” 

She presses a finger to her temple to calm her nerves. Even though the ritual isn’t her cup of tea, they hadn’t planned for an alternative ceremony without the bells and whistles. And, to be honest, Edelgard has never been good at improvising things on the spot. But, the Empire does have a reputation to uphold as Garreg Mach’s oldest social club, and one mistake wouldn’t be allowed to ruin that.

“Ferdinand, get the chalice quickly, you know where it is,” Edelgard says with her eyes shut, trying to quell the sense of anxiety that always came with things not going as she’d planned. “Caspar, get Petra from the door, and don’t forget the blindfold.” 

Ferdinand near sprints out of the room and up the stairs, cloak billowing behind him as he tries to retrieve the cup and be back before Caspar and Petra make it downstairs. Caspar takes more of his time, shuffling around his pockets underneath the robe before pulling out a black cloth and following Ferdinand up. 

Hubert’s hand on Edelgard’s shoulder arrives before his voice, gently squeezing while muttering under his breath. “Imbeciles.”

No one else says a word as they continue to stand in the relative darkness, the only sound coming from the shuffling of people into their respective positions. Above their heads, the floorboards creak with the sounds of Ferdinand running through the house. Mildly stressed and looking for a momentary distraction, Edelgard checks her phone under her cloak again.

There are two new text messages from Byleth, which she opens immediately:  _ theyve all let me pet them but theres one black one who wont let me _ , followed by:  _ im trying with food tomorrow _ . From the description, Edelgard recognizes this cat from around the central church, notorious for its cool nature and talent for picking off food from people eating in the commons. It always has played hard to get.

_ Try catnip _ , she replies quickly, recalling a time Dorothea and her managed to win the notorious cat’s affection one warm afternoon. As she hears the footsteps approaching the doorway to the basement, she shoves her phone back into her pocket. Chest out and standing as tall as she can, she inhales deeply for a second and takes her position in the circle, Hubert flanking her right side.

The door creaks open slowly, light pouring into the basement, and the members all turn to the doorway with bated breaths.

“It’s just Ferdie,” Dorothea whispers following a soft exhale. Edelgard doesn’t move from her position, just watches as he makes his way down the stairs slowly and closes the door behind him, the wooden steps underneath his beige boat shoes creaking with every step.

Hubert’s voice breaks through the relatively quiet air. “Can you possibly walk  _ any _ slower?”

“Petra and Caspar are upstairs,” Ferdinand says softly back as he touches down on the floor, voice soft and controlled at an attempt to keep it low. He moves towards the circle of them. “I do not want them to hear the commotion. But, I have the chalice.”

He holds the cup out with a grin that’s barely visible in the dark and takes his place besides Edelgard. The light of a flickering candle gleams off the edge of the chalice and she can see it in most of its glory, a thick gilded goblet with flowers and feathers etched into its golden surface. 

An old relic, ornate and ostentatious, supposedly made by the founder of the club himself in the very house they stand. Besides being a part of their extensive collection of goods, it’s mostly used for playing King’s Cup during parties. Tonight, it serves its intended purpose. Edelgard reaches under her cloak for the flask in her back pocket, uncaps it, and pours the contents into the cup, red liquid sloshing around the interior. Upstairs, footsteps can be heard at the base of the doorway. 

“Places, everyone,” Dorothea whispers out one last time, giving Edelgard a smile and mouthing  _ you got this _ with a thumbs up.

A knock erupts through the silence, and the six of them look at each other, waiting in anticipation. It’s customary for the pledge to knock twice before being answered, an initial sign of commitment to the club, so they stand in the circle and await the second one. Instead, they hear Caspar saying something to Petra, indecipherable through the door. The second knock arrives shortly after.

“You may enter,” Edelgard says loudly to the door in her best  _ commanding _ voice, still standing as tall as she can. The door opens, bright light flooding the room before closing in an instant.

Petra walks down the stairs carefully, black fabric tied around her eyes and her hand in Caspar’s as he leads her down. Her hair is braided and falls down the side of her neck, landing on her right shoulder and cascading down. With just a white tank top and a brown, corduroy mini skirt, Edelgard can see the tattoos that line her bicep just before the light is left behind.

Caspar leads her to the center of the circle by the candles and the stone bust, letting go of her hand and taking his place in between Linhardt and Bernadetta. His smile is wide, side by side with a bored expression to his left and a nervous one to his right. At least someone is enjoying this.

“Petra Macneary,” Edelgard begins. “You are brought before the members of the Empire Club, the Black Eagles of Garreg Mach, the aerie of Adrestia, hoping to join the flock that has spanned centuries and has been at the crux of our university’s founding. Is that your intention?”

She’s had to give this speech many times before, and at this point it’s burnt into her memory. Through the years, she’s changed parts of it that she hasn’t liked without much fuss, removing the usage of  _ brotherhood _ and  _ scion _ and  _ forefathers _ . It’s still not quite what she’d hope, still with a touch of  _ culty _ , but she manages.

“Yes,” Petra answers.

“Do you realize that becoming a member of the Empire Club is a lifetime commitment, a bond that cannot be severed, a sacred connection that will follow you for the rest of your days?” Edelgard says. It’s not entirely true—they have a formal de-affiliation process, as does every other social club on campus—but they say the words every year anyway.

“Yes.” Petra still stands awkwardly in the center, her hands curled in on themselves.

Hubert speaks up, voice especially sinister. “Many many years ago, when Garreg Mach University was first built up, it was a destitute place, lacking culture and the strong arm of those willing to shape it. As one of its first students, our founder Wilheim Hresvelg sought to take matters in his own hands. He gathered five others, the bedrocks of our very club, to carry out his wish.”

“In this very house they stood, taking sacred oaths with one another and swearing to uphold their vision for the future: a future in which empathy, compassion, wisdom, and strength triumphed over all other virtues,” Ferdinand adds, sounding as dignified as possible. “Together, they passed on their traditions to their progeny, who have served in their image since.”

“We have selected you because we believe you can uphold these values and transform our campus for the better, Petra,” Edelgard says. “Now, the choice is yours. You may walk away now, or you may drink from the cup of our predecessors, binding you to us for life.”

Ferdinand takes a sip from the chalice and passes it to Dorothea on his left. They go around the circle like this, passing the golden cup around and drinking from it, careful not to spill any of its contents on their velvet robes. Edelgard is surprised no one has broken their silence yet, with the club being so dysfunctional on all other occasions. Even Bernadetta silently drinks, not a peep of anxious rambling or musing coming out of her mouth.

While they drink, Edelgard can’t help but feel the phone in her pocket, sitting like a weight on her thigh. It’s on  _ Do Not Disturb,  _ but somehow she has a feeling that Byleth has already responded to her text and is awaiting a response. She can almost imagine the vibration of it and envisions the other girl’s response, maybe a witty joke about the cats, or an off topic question about fencing or campus, or even a flirty, out of place response.

Wait,  _ what _ ? She’s certainly not hoping for a flirty text, and she doesn’t know how that would even happen. Edelgard barely even knows this girl, and she’d find it uncouth to respond like that to a message about  _ cats,  _ of all things. She’s forced to quickly shake the thought away when Hubert motions to pass the cup to her, her cheeks slightly flushed. At least they’re in the dark.

The drink is cool and bitter as it goes down her throat, a dry red wine mulled with whole spices and bitters. With one last gulp, she holds it out in front of her towards where Petra stands, still blindfolded.

“We are offering you a place amongst our ranks, a place among Garreg Mach’s history. Do you accept?” she asks Petra.

“Yes.”

Taking a step forward, she holds the chalice to Petra’s mouth, having to angle it upwards due to their height difference. The rest of the members drop to their knees and kneel while she drinks the remainder of the wine, red liquid streaking down the side of her lips, symbolizing their new shared blood. 

Edelgard takes the chalice back and carefully undoes the blindfold on Petra’s face, letting the black fabric fall to the ground in front of them. Petra looks around, squinting, with a look between confusion and determination. In the candlelight, her eyes glow with sparks of red and orange.

“Now, you must let the wax flow from the sacred candles, honoring our founder,” Edelgard says as she kneels down and motions towards the bust, “and solidifying your connection to our history.” The velvet fabric pools around her knees.

Petra grabs the candle closest to her, marked with a symbol that looks like two wings above a staff. She tilts it slightly, letting the melted red wax drip down on the stone bust, coating it with another streak.

“For Indech,” the Eagles all chant in unison, a chorus of voices resonating through the basement. “May he grant us the wisdom to understand the world before us, and the temperance to shape it without self-obstruction.” Edelgard thinks of the Indech Library, nestled in the center of the Academic Buildings, century old books lining its expansive shelves.

Petra places the candle back on the table, and grabs another, squatter one with a different symbol inscribed in it. As she moves her wrist above the bust, the wax falls down, streaking from Wilheim’s brow to his nose in a deep maroon.

“For Cethleann,” their voices ring out. “May she grant us the empathy to relate to one another, and the love to remain by each other’s side.”

Another candle is melted. “For Cichol. May he grant us the compassion to help others, and the faith to trust in our convictions.”

At the sound of his name, Edelgard is reminded of the lab named in his honor, the very lab that Byleth is now working at. She wishes she could reach in and check her messages, hoping and expecting that there is something there, but the ritual must go on. Petra reaches for another candle.

“For Macuil. May he grant us the intellect to understand our vision, and the strength to carry it out.” More red droplets paint the stone head.

“For Seiros. May she grant us the unity to remain together.” This one always leaves a bitter taste in Edelgard’s mouth as she says it, reminded of the now-defunct laboratory that contributed to the research that’s left her scarred. As much as she’s tried to remove the chanting from their rituals, she can never get it through without a fight from Ferdinand. One day she’d put her foot down and just do it, but she’d need a better plan for that.

At last, Petra puts down the last candle and stands by the coated bust. Edelgard rises and stands before her, shifting out of her robe and holding it in her arms. She wraps the velvet cloak around Petra’s shoulders, feeling lighter without the heavy coat on her.

“Rise, eagles,” Edelgard says as she raises her arms, other members following her gesture and standing from their kneeled position. “Welcome to the Empire, Petra. You have been granted the gilded wings that have led us through the centuries.”

They all circle her, all in robes now except for Edelgard, offering welcomes and congratulations. She smiles as Dorothea pulls her into a warm hug, saying something Edelgard can’t quite catch as she excuses herself from the group and heads upstairs. 

Everything on the ground floor is ready and in order—catered food keeping warm in the oven, drinks and mixers perfectly laid out on the kitchen counter, and pastries in tiered stands dotted across the house so no one is ever too far from a macaron.

Edelgard relishes in the moment of silence as she runs her hand along the granite countertop, feeling relieved that the worst part of initiation is over now. She fishes for her phone again as she stands in the kitchen, lighting up the display and smiling to herself when she notices she has a notification.

_ are u suggesting i drug cats into liking me _

_ Not at all, but it’s efficient,  _ she types out as people begin to make their way up from the basement, holding their cloaks in their arms and laughing at something. Hubert makes his way towards her, looking remarkably different now in a slim, white button up shirt instead of a heavy hooded robe. He holds a cloak in each arm, and as Edelgard looks around she notices Bernadetta is missing hers. As much as he’d never admit it, she knows he has a soft spot for the skittish girl.

“Excellent job as always, Edelgard,” he says as he approaches, flashing her a small smirk. “Where we’d be without you, I don’t know.”

“You’d still be having two hour long ceremonies drilling in the importance of our lineage, probably,” she replies, deepening her voice at the phrase _ importance of our lineage  _ in an attempt to imitate some of their fellow members.

He chuckles a bit at that, then turns his head towards where the rest have grouped together by the alcohol, all still laughing as Caspar makes a joke and pours himself a cup full of vodka.

“I better go watch over the peanut gallery before someone ends up in the hospital,” he says, making his exit. “Don’t forget to take a moment to relax, Edelgard.”

_ Relax _ . Dorothea and Caspar had promised to take care of the dinner party, waving Edelgard away when she tried to involve herself and take some responsibility in it. Coupled with Hubert keeping another eye on the house, Edelgard presently has no responsibilities at this moment. She reaches for a lavender tea cake and nibbles on it, watching as everyone mingles on the other side of the room. She checks her phone again, and there’s another message from Byleth.

_ ive nicknamed it snowball _

_ A black cat named Snowball? Now that’s interesting. _

Byleth must be bored, because she replies within minutes, barely giving Edelgard time to come up with something clever to respond.

_ its icy cold _

_ And quick to melt in your hands? _

_ well thats the plan _

She looks up from her phone for a moment and notices Dorothea making her way towards her, one arm interlocked with Petra and the other holding a plate of food. 

“Hey, Edie,” she says when she’s close, pushing the plate closer to Edelgard, “you should eat something, or like, at least join the festivities. Even Hubie’s getting into the spirit.”

“The food has deliciousness,” Petra chimes in as she happily eats what looks like a sandwich filled with meat and cheese. “It… reminds me of home.”

Edelgard grabs one from the plate and tries it herself, surprised at how easily it all melts into her mouth and bursts with savory flavor.

“We went looking for Venezuelan restaurants and eventually found one three towns over,” Dorothea says with a smile. “Can’t have you missing home when we’re supposed to be like family now.”

“And that, for the uninformed,” she adds, turning to Edelgard again and pointing at the sandwich, “is an  _ arepa _ . There’s also empanadas by the rest of the food.”

Petra looks truly warmed by the gesture, her eyes radiating a warmth Edelgard had yet to see.

“I can be making them better, though,” Petra says with a laugh.

“Oh, we can hold you to that,” Dorothea says. “Now, drinks?” She starts to move towards the alcohol table now that the group has dispersed a bit, and Petra follows her before splintering off to mingle with the others.

As they walk away, Edelgard feels a fondness in her heart at seeing everyone come together like this. In the corner of their living room, Caspar tries to get Linhardt to take a shot with him and fails, and Bernadetta eats macarons while standing near Ferdinand and Petra, enthralled in their new conversation. Even Hubert looks like he’s happy, pouring himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks as he makes small talk with Dorothea. They tended to fight over petty things so often, and she has to play the role of constant leader so much it makes her forget how much she truly just enjoys their presence. 

It’s hard to let herself just feel, sometimes, to not think of every way which she can be doing more. Tonight, however, Edelgard feels a momentary sense of bravado with her emotions: maybe it’s the delicious food, or the energy in the house, or the fact that she doesn’t have to say the words  _ honoring our founder _ for at least another six months. Ruled by an uncharacteristic impulse, she takes out her phone one last time, fully committed to enjoying this party, and types one last message out to Byleth:

_ Do you want to hang out sometime? _

And then, Edelgard hesitates. She imagines Byleth reading her message, recoiling from the forwardness of it all. The other woman didn’t seem to be very emotional, either, and probably wouldn’t know what to make of the question, maybe avoiding her at practice forever after. She tells herself there’s no point in asking, they’d see each other at practice in just a few days, and it’s not like she actually  _ wants _ anything more than that anyway. She’s a senior with bigger things on her plate, and Byleth is busy with her future in research. The both of them clearly just like sparring, and maybe conversing about cats on and off.

Unable to think of another response, Edelgard decides that the conversation has reached its natural end and tells herself not to dwell on it any longer. Careful not to accidentally hit  _ Send _ , she deletes the message and puts the phone back in her pocket, where it would stay for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it turns out online school fucking sucks and i didn't have more time to write, but i'm done now so fingers crossed for more regular updates <3 thank u guys for tuning in as always


	8. Byleth IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mouth of the Dragon Regatta is here, and Byleth runs into a familiar face.

On a late Sunday morning, perched up on a stool in the kitchen and eating last night’s Chinese take-out right out of the container, Byleth is left to her own devices. Her father had woken early, leaving a handwritten note on the fridge next to the cartoonized portrait of herself: _ out running errands for the day -Dad _

Outside the window of their shared apartment, the trees gently sway in the breeze, leaves beginning to turn shades of yellow and maroon as they prepare to fall. Chopsticks in hand, Byleth places a cold piece of orange chicken in her mouth and watches the world outside. She’s lived in dozens of other places before, places with endless summer heat, places with tornadoes, even places with just six hours of sunlight on some days, but she’s still awed by the changing Autumn foliage. 

Midway through a bite and struck by the way the sun hits the leaves, she wonders what to do with her day. On the street below, no one stirs—no joggers, dog walkers, or hungover college students walking about on their way back to their dorms. Her gaze wanders over to the stack of papers on the dining room table, papers and journals she had printed weeks ago at Seteth’s instruction. She’s read them all at this point, some again and again, combing through citation after citation trying to hunt down research that could be useful to her work at Cichol.

So far, nothing yet. Byleth hasn’t really made _ any _ progress on the research, just shows up for the day and combs through files and unsorted data sets while Annette makes small talk next to her. Mostly, she keeps herself busy, wading through the necessary but rather tedious work that’s required to keep the lab running for the actual scientists.

She doesn’t hate it, though, even though there are about a dozen other things she’d rather do on a Sunday morning, like going boating with her dad, fencing, or even good old fashioned fist-fighting. But, there are limitations to those activities, like the lack of her father and his keys to the recreation room, so she settles for the lab.

After finishing her last bit of dried-out rice, she gets dressed, throwing on one of Jeralt’s old t-shirts, sleeves torn off and sports team decal faded and cracking, and a pair of jean shorts. Shoving the stack of papers into her bag, she leaves the apartment and heads out.

On a day like today, when last night’s sleep still clings to her eyes like old mascara and the lab is sure to be quiet, save for the occasional mechanical hum of equipment, Byleth needs a caffeinated drink. She walks south and makes her way to the campus’ central Student Complex first, hoping to stop by the on campus coffee shop before heading to the lab.

The campus is surprisingly empty, spaces normally occupied by picnicking students or people playing frisbee unusually devoid of life. As she winds through pathways and underneath trees, she feels the sun on her exposed skin, suddenly grateful for the haphazard outfit she threw on.

When she walks into the small cafe, the last thing she expects to find is Edelgard, waiting in line behind someone quietly ordering a drink. White hair parted and wound in two tight buns, she peers over the glass separating the line from the pastry selection, hands in the pockets of her black jeans.

“Edelgard,” Byleth says as she steps into line behind the other woman, both sparing her a quick glance of hello and then flicking her eyes to read the menu posted.

The last time they had spoken, texted really, was two days ago on Friday night, after which Edelgard had abruptly stopped responding. She doesn’t know what the rules of texting are or why the girl had stopped replying, but she tries not to dwell on it. The _ making friends _ thing is all new for her anyway, and she thinks that maybe she should start getting other people’s phone numbers, too, and avoid the weird feeling she gets when she’s met with Edelgard’s radio silence.

“Oh, Byleth.” Edelgard looks startled as she looks up from the pastries and makes brief eye contact before a _ next customer, please _has her shuffling forward to the register, Byleth following her. She looks back towards Byleth before ordering, shifting her weight from one foot to the other before looking back at the barista.

“One iced coconut milk cinnamon roll latte, medium,” Edelgard says, and then, lowering her voice so that Byleth can barely make it out, adds, “and extra whipped cream, please.”

The barista punches her order in and then speaks without making eye contact. “Is that all?”

Edelgard turns back over to Byleth. “Do you want anything?”

“I was thinking of getting the chai latte,” Byleth says passively after quickly scanning through the drinks listed.

“And, a chai latte,” Edelgard says to the barista, grabbing a credit card from the back of her phone case and placing the chip into the card reader. “For Edelgard, please.”

Byleth stands in the line, confused. Did she just want suggestions for a second drink? Sure, she’s a bit small, but from fencing alone Byleth knows that she can pack a punch, so maybe she really does mean to consume both. She must be getting the energy from somewhere.

When Byleth steps up to the counter after her and opens her mouth to speak, Edelgard places her hand on Byleth’s shoulder for a split second, the soft fabric of her glove meeting Byleth’s bare skin.

“It’s on me,” she says with a small smile, drawing her hand away and moving away from the register. _ Oh_.

“I thought you just wanted both,” Byleth replies as she follows her, leaning back against a square column as they wait for their drinks.

“No, I…” Edelgard says before chuckling softly and bringing a hand up to her mouth. “Has no one ever bought you a drink before?”

“My dad,” Byleth says, now fiddling with the hem of her muscle tee, feeling the fraying bits of fabric come undone underneath her fingertips. She doesn’t know why, but she feels a heat rise in her all of a sudden, like she’s been put under a burning, bright spotlight. The feeling has never been so apparent before, but now there always seems to be reminders of where she’s _ lacking _socially.

After a beat, she follows up, turning over to look at Edelgard’s face, focusing on the spot where her cheekbone is most prominent, just under the eye. “Is that a thing people do?”

Edelgard’s eyes soften a bit, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. “Yes. When they’re trying to be friendly.”

Friendly. _ Friends _. Byleth plays with the word in her mind, turning it over as she stares ahead towards the barista who’s spraying a big dollop of whipped cream on a drink. So she does want to be friends.

Edelgard’s voice cuts into her thoughts. “Were you heading to the regatta?”

“Regatta? What’s that?”

“It’s just a fancy word for a rowing competition,” she says, now eyeing the first drink that’s been placed on the counter. “Once a year, rowers from around the world come to compete. And the school uses it as an excuse to throw a day-long riverside party. With corporate sponsorship, of course.”

“Two drinks for Edelgard,” the barista exclaims even though they’re standing in front of him, holding out the two cups, one clear plastic and the other an insulated cardboard. 

“Thank you,” Edelgard says as she grabs them both and hands one to Byleth, turning on her heel and heading straight for the door. 

“I was actually planning on going into the lab,” Byleth replies as she follows, thinking of the stack of papers in her bag, “but riverside parties also seem fun.”

Edelgard stops outside of the cafe, briefly looking at herself reflected in the storefront glass pane. “I’m heading there to meet with some friends.” She pauses and looks to her side, holding the cup close to her chest with a careful grip.

Their collective silence, though just moments, feels long as Byleth takes a sip from her drink and listens to the rustling of leaves in the background. _ Edelgard _ is written in thick black ink across the sleeve of her cup, and she moves her thumb over the name absently. A part of her wants to go to the event, forget the responsibilities she has and just be a person and have fun, but she hesitates. Another part of her wonders if she should’ve gotten her drink iced, heat apparent through her fingertips.

As she imagines flower crowns and food on sticks and sunshine beating down on her skin and drinks so cold the condensation makes her hands slippery, Edelgard starts to speak again. “So, I’ll see you ar—”

“Can I walk with you?”

Byleth takes another sip from her drink, tasting the sweet, milky drink that is certainly tasty but definitely not tea. She’d be happy to go alone, curious about the regatta, especially with virtually the entire campus there, but she doesn’t know where it’s supposed to be happening. Except, well, it’s by the river somewhere.

Edelgard smiles softly. “Of course.”

They walk side by side towards the river, each sipping from their drinks. In the morning sun, Edelgard looks _ overdressed _ next to Byleth, clad in dark jeans, a high-necked forest green top and a grey cardigan. Coupled with the thin, white gloves she wears and her black boots, the ensemble covers all her skin save for the one on her face. Meanwhile, Byleth already starts to feel the sweat forming underneath her breezy tank. 

“Are you cold?” Byleth says as she wipes the back of her hand along the line of her brow, wicking the sweat that’s started to line her forehead. By the river, the cool breeze would come in and drop the temperature, but here in the middle of campus, heat wafts up from the pavement and surrounds them.

Edelgard doesn’t turn to face her, just continues walking as she brings the cup down from her mouth to speak. “No,” she says plainly as she focuses on the path ahead of them, her jaw tensing so slightly that Byleth almost doesn’t catch it.

Byleth turns to look at her while they walk, cutting through silence with a glance, then turning away to look forward again before Edelgard notices.

For the first time in her life, she finds herself _ avoiding_. Growing up, her father’s friends and students had often commented on her propensity for staring, for meeting people’s gazes, not trying to win in the fight of _ holding a look _but emerging victorious all the same. With enough focus, she’d just stare into the spots in their irises or watch the way their pupils dilated and wait, able to forget about their expectations for her to speak. Able to see what they meant anyway, without the need for words.

Yet now, she stumbles. She doesn’t want to meet Edelgard’s gaze, at least not while she can avoid it. For days, Byleth’s been seeing lilac when she closes her eyes, but the thought of catching a glimpse of it now fills her with a mild dread. The soft hairs on her arm start to stick out, even though she’s, by all accounts, sweating. Is it intimidation? Or worse, a bone-deep fear? What is she so afraid of?

Edelgard breaks her razor focus and catches Byleth in the middle of a look, her eyebrow raised as Byleth abruptly turns away. Close call.

“Initially, I thought the staring thing was a scare tactic for fencing,” Edelgard starts as Byleth tries to keep her gaze locked ahead of them, “but now I’m inclined to believe this is just one of your quirks.”

Another rush of chai goes down Byleth’s throat, hot but barely burning. “Quirks…”

“Do people tell you that a lot?”

_ Constantly _. “I’ve gotten it a few times.”

They follow a path that winds underneath a canopy of trees, shaded from the light. “Well, don’t worry,” Edelgard replies, “it takes a lot more to intimidate me.”

“I’m actually just…” Byleth searches for the words to say as a bead of sweat follows the path along her brow. She remembers how her dad used to introduce her to his fencing students as a child, “a _ wallflower_. The staring is uh… It’s a tactic.”

Edelgard’s eyebrows raise, and she turns her head to look at Byleth properly this time, violet meeting blue. “A tactic, huh?”

“I focus on their irises,” she finds herself struggling to say what she means, knowing the idea is perfectly clear in her head but the words never come out right, “and then I can... forget that people want me to converse _ back _.”

They know they’ve almost reached the river by the sound alone, the bass of a musical track and the buzz of conversation beginning to fill the air. Edelgard stops in her tracks for a moment, holding the cup to her lips and peering over at the water that spans ahead of them.

She opens her mouth to speak. “I won’t burden you with that expectation.” And Byleth doesn’t reply, grateful for the silence even amongst the noise.

The crowds surrounding this part of the river are large but spaced out, groups of students, families, and vendors clustered together along the grassy esplanade. Booths are set up along the riverbank and groups filter between them, collecting shot-sized samples of energy drinks in paper cups and flyers for what seems like insurance companies. Others wait in line to buy things, although what things exactly Byleth has a hard time noting, given the excess of businesses who’ve set up shop. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth spots a pavilion tent with tall standing tables, and two people casually chatting over large glasses of what appears to be craft beer, if the name written on the sign is any indication.

Before Byleth knows it, Edelgard turns and leads them over to the pavilion, giving a small wave to the duo when they turn to look at her. One, a tall, wiry man with dark, curled hair stares at her with his lips pressed tightly together as he hunches over his glass. The other, Byleth has a harder time seeing, with long brown hair and a hat with a large, floppy brim that obscures her face.

“Edie,” the young woman says with a smile as they approach, and as she turns Byleth can see warm, emerald eyes and long, gold earrings that drape down the line of her jaw. “And, a stranger.”

Edelgard turns to the woman with a polite smile, “Dorothea. Hubert.” She gestures towards Byleth. “Byleth. Her father is the new fencing coach.”

Byleth shifts her weight where she stands, from the left leg to the right, focused on the way the two seem to scan her quickly. The tall man, Hubert, eyes Edelgard for a second and then looks back at Byleth with his fingers wrapped tightly around the glass and lips on the rim, drinking from the top.

The young woman, Dorothea, speaks first. “It’s very nice to meet you, Byleth.” She offers a hand, slender with a sparkling plum colored coat of nail polish that chips at the edges. “Are you a fan of rowing?”

“I like being on boats,” Byleth responds, eyes drifting towards the water, morning sun reflecting off the rippling surface like stars dotting a night sky, “but, I’ve never been to a _ regatta _ before.” The word sounds oddly sophisticated coming from her mouth, but she likes the way it rolls off her tongue. When Byleth turns back to look at Dorothea, she eyes the woman’s hand retreating back to hug the rim of her glass.

“I’m a bit surprised you’re up this early on a Sunday for this, Dorothea,” Edelgard says with a smirk, “given _ you’re _ not exactly a fan.”

“I couldn’t stand the sad, puppy dog look on Ferdie’s face if he found out we all missed his race. Plus, Hubie dragged me out of bed at 10.” Dorothea places her hand on Hubert’s and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Even he wouldn’t miss it.” She smiles teasingly, though he looks mildly annoyed, head turned away and mouth contorted into a slight scowl.

Hubert doesn’t draw his hand away. “I’m not here for that simpleton,” he says indignantly with a slight turn of his head. “It’s in the best interest of the club that we maintain a unified front.”

Edelgard scoffs. “Unified front? You wouldn’t be able to get the rest of them here if you set the house on fire,” she says, her voice lilted slightly as she breaks into a small laugh.

“I spoke with Caspar before I left. He said he’d get them here by 1.” He almost rolls his eyes, at no one in particular. 

“Oh come on, indulge a little. Don’t pretend you need an excuse for a little booze in the morning,” Dorothea retorts with a smile. “Plus, Ferdie’s race won’t start until then anyway.”

“I can only hope the alcohol hits my bloodstream before then.” Despite his choice of words, Hubert hides the beginnings of a smile with his drinking glass, washing down the spite with cold beer.

Their banter continues, and Byleth stands by and takes sips from her tea until all she’s left with is the cardboard cup. She drones their conversations out, eyes flitting from booth to booth wondering what each could possibly be trying to sell.

When she snaps back to reality as Dorothea laughs at something on her phone, Edelgard is nowhere to be found. She looks around again, but the crowd is so dense by now that she can’t see very far.

“Do you want to have a beer with us? We’re getting a second round.” Dorothea questions when she notices Byleth’s gaze across the esplanade.

Byleth does enjoy beer, sometimes a little too much, though she can always hold her composure. Her drinking companions, on the other hand, often struggled to keep up. But, the lab still calls her, so she passes.

“I have work to do,” she says absently as she keeps looking around for _ something _, she doesn’t quite know what, and Dorothea shrugs. Following her gaze, she leaves the pavilion without saying goodbye as they get up to order.

The races have already begun, but these don’t gather the crowds by the river’s edge like the main event. In the meantime, Byleth wanders. She drinks free shots of concentrated coffee drinks and collects a stack of flyers and advertisements that she shoves into her bag. Nothing here interests her particularly, but when the usually young, cheerful salespeople approach her with options, she doesn’t feel strongly enough to say no, she’s not interested.

In the crowds, she spots familiar faces—Claude and Ignatz and Leonie sitting on a large blanket with a few others she doesn’t know, Annette and Mercedes on line to get cotton candy, Felix and Ingrid and Dedue interspersed at different booths. She says _ hi_, _ hello _when they signal to get her attention, exchanges pleasantries for short periods and continues moving through the event, wandering about aimlessly. Time passes.

One quick look at Byleth’s phone tells her that the big event, the race everyone here is really waiting for, is almost approaching, the screen reading out _ 12:58 _in bold white numbers. She moves to get closer to the race, shoes stepping carefully over the stones that line the basin—wide, smooth, and slick with water where the river meets the shore.

In her quest to find an unoccupied spot, she finds Edelgard sitting alone on a large outcropping underneath a footbridge where the sound of cheering echoes. Garreg Mach _ is _ a small school, but she still wonders just how many times she can run into the same person in a day.

“I see you’re looking for shade, too,” Edelgard says without turning as Byleth approaches. Against the blue of the water, the stark lines of her parted white hair and her clothing following the gentle slope of her body, she looks like she belongs in a regal frame, picturesque. “Or quiet.”

Byleth sits down next to her and realizes just how precarious the stone situation is. Their feet graze the surface of the river, water lapping up the tips of their shoes with every gentle breeze. Here, far from the start of the race, the water is mostly still as the boats make their way downstream. Their seating place, a moderately sized, relatively flat boulder, is surrounded by smaller stones that seem much more uncomfortable as far as sitting goes. They sit close enough that Byleth can feel Edelgard’s jeans brush up against her bare knees, the boulder too small for them to sit any farther apart.

“Your friends seem nice,” Byleth says as she settles into her seat.

“Dorothea is very kind,” Edelgard replies, her voice softening. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Hubert described as _ nice _ before, though.”

Byleth remembers his small smile, his apparent insistence to come to the regatta, his thinly veiled fondness hidden under cruel words. “I can tell he cares about you all.”

“He has an interesting way of showing it.”

For a moment, Byleth says nothing, just listens to the sound of water and distant cheering. She can feel the heat of Edelgard’s shoulder against hers, prominent and burning even through her layers of clothing. What’d she’d give to be able to tear the shirt off her back and jump into the river, to feel the cold rush of water against her skin and the smooth algae on the tips of her toes. She imagines Edelgard with her, white hair sticking against her skin, chasing each other in circles around the river for no apparent reason. She doesn’t even know if Edelgard can swim.

After a few minutes of daydreaming, Edelgard speaks.

“That’s Garreg Mach’s boat coming up, the silver one,” Edelgard says with a finger extended, pointing at a slender boat emerging from the river’s turn, trailing ahead of others. From their vantage point, Byleth can barely make out the features of the rowers.

“You know someone on the team,” Byleth comments absently as she looks down at her shoes and then at the water, remembering a name tinged in Dorothea’s honeyed voice, “Ferdie, right?”

Edelgard chuckles. “Yes, Ferdinand. I actually know quite a few of the members.” 

The boats inch closer to the footbridge, raucous cheering approaching their quiet spot. At this range, Byleth can start to see the people steering the large boats in more detail, shoulder muscles rippling underneath spandex tank tops. Garreg Mach’s team is donned in emerald shirts emblazoned with the university’s logo.

“That’s Ferdinand, up in the front.” At the head of the boat, a man with shaggy ginger hair that flops over his thin shades pulls his oar with a controlled aggression. Byleth can’t make out his facial expression, but she imagines his face is contorted in a way that indicates exhaustion, given the glow of sweat that taints his tanned skin. 

Next in the boat is a thinner man with shoulder length violet hair, pinned back with a white visor and out of his eyes.

“Right behind him is Lorenz.” Edelgard’s voice is louder now, compensating for the noise that engulfs them. Besides the cheering of the crowd, Byleth can also hear shouting coming from the boats, chanting numbers and words she can’t recognize. Behind her, she can make out Dorothea’s voice cheering.

She has to raise her voice. “There’s a lot of yelling.”

To her surprise, Edelgard leans towards her, one of her buns dangerously within reach of Byleth’s face. She feels unbearably warm again, her clothing clearly not freeing enough to escape the late summer air. She shifts away slightly, hoping for a cooling breeze.

“In the middle, that man with the blonde hair,” Edelgard says, an edge to her voice now, “that’s my step-brother, Dimitri.” 

“That’s your brother?” The man is large, hulking almost, hunched over his oar like his life depends on it. Most of his long, blonde hair is tied back into a ponytail, the remainder hanging lazily by his neck. Nothing like the small, prim and proper girl sitting next to her. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

“_Step_-brother,” she corrects, and with their proximity Byleth can feel the way she tenses up. Probably a sore subject.

“I was supposed to have a brother. A twin,” Byleth reaches for a stone by her feet, running her thumb over the surface. “My dad says I ate him in the womb.”

She remembers people’s laughter, kids at fencing competitions or her father’s coworkers, when they’d heard her say the statement so monotonically. Jeralt really had said it, once off-handedly over dinner, and Byleth had repeated it to people whenever she felt like it was relevant. They’d always laugh—her father does have a great sense of humor. 

Edelgard doesn’t laugh, though, just stares rigidly ahead at the other end of the footbridge where the masonry meets the ground again. Garreg Mach’s boat passes by them, a small man with floppy, grey hair perched on the very back yelling numbers at the rest of the team. The other teams are close, but not ahead, and soon they all pass by until the only sound Byleth can hear comes from behind where they sit instead of the water ahead.

“Did they win?” Byleth asks. She can still feel Edelgard tensed beside her, rigid like a wall.

“The end is still over that way,” Edelgard answers as she turns her head to the downstream and holds her gaze. “So, we don’t know yet.”

Byleth’s stomach grumbles, reminding her that it’s now been hours since she’s last eaten a real meal. The smell of food surrounds them, with food trucks set up in either direction, exacerbating her hunger. Closest to them is one painted a vibrant shade of red and yellow, with a large cartoon cactus on the side. From the bold lettering, she can tell it’s selling Mexican food.

She gets up, dusting her legs off with the palms of her hands, and then reaches out to Edelgard. The woman is still tense, her real emotions shielded behind stoicness, but Byleth has found that food’s always been a good way to distract. “Burritos?”

Edelgard wordlessly grabs Byleth’s hand, and she hoists her up with one arm, feeling her bicep flex. Though Edelgard doesn’t respond, she follows Byleth to the truck and walks a step behind her.

“Are you hungry? I’ll pay,” Byleth says as she fishes around her bag for cash. When Edelgard looks at her with a raised brow, she speaks again, repeating what Edelgard had said before at the coffee shop. “I’m trying to be friendly.”

“I’m not hungry,” Edelgard responds, and for this first time since Byleth had mistakenly called Ferdinand _ Ferdie _, she smiles. “But, thank you.”

With the abundance of vendors out today, there is no line. Byleth is immediately at the front, and after scanning the menu posted on the side settles on fish tacos. Hands in her pockets, Byleth waits for her order by the side of the truck, taking in the smells that waft out of the opening. Edelgard stands across from her, looking around the riverbank.

The tacos are done within minutes, and Byleth almost burns her tongue eating the freshly fried fish before it’s had time to cool. Luckily, the cold mango slaw soothes it in her next bite. She feels odd just eating alone while Edelgard watches. Her father always taught her that eating was meant to be a shared experience, making a point to eat together even when it was just the two of them eating greasy fast food burgers in their car.

Mid bite, Byleth speaks the first thing on her mind. “I make pretty good fish tacos, too.”

“Oh?”

“Since you’re not hungry now, when you’re hungry next,” Byleth has to stop herself from talking before finishing her bite, taking a moment to swallow, “I can make them for you.”

Edelgard doesn’t respond, but Byleth catches her eyes widening for a split second and then narrowing.

Suddenly aware of the silence, and the now familiar feeling of speaking yet not being spoken to, Byleth fills the space. “I also make… other things.”

She wonders if Edelgard is having trouble understanding what she’s asking.

“I have something tonight, for the club,” comes Edelgard’s response after a beat. So she does understand. “But... I’m free tomorrow after fencing.”

As much as Byleth tries to gauge her reaction, she struggles. All she can make out is a mix of nervousness and excitement, and an attempt to keep both of those wrapped up with an air of aloofness. Her dilating pupils give her away—Byleth has had years of practice—but Byleth doesn’t know what to make of the combination.

“Okay,” is all she can think to respond. “Tomorrow.” She finishes the last taco, shoving it entirely into her mouth in one go and swallowing it down.

There’s a pause, and Byleth awkwardly holds the empty container in her hand and waits for Edelgard to say something.

“I have to go find the other Eagles,” Edelgard finally says, and she looks behind her for a moment. “Celebrations and all.”

Another pause.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Edelgard adds, voice pitching at the end almost like a question, like she’s waiting on a response.

“Tomorrow,” Byleth repeats.

Edelgard smiles at her before turning to walk away, stark white buns disappearing amongst the crowd as she gets far enough. As Byleth walks away from the event and towards the Academic Campus, she feels her heart strum in her chest steadily. Skin flushed with no signs of returning to normal on a day as sweltering as today, she starts to regret ordering the taco on the highest spice level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it a date? is it not a date? neither of them knows
> 
> that aside, thank you so much to everyone who's been following this! your comments and kudos are so dearly appreciated, feel free to talk to me about anything here on or on twitter @noodoosoup <3


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